The tree around the corner and a ways from town deep within the forest of nothingness
Surrounded by nothingness
Secluded
The silence is deadly
No whispers in the wind
Quiet
That’s all it has to offer
The leaves on the tree never reaches the ground but disappears with the softest touch
Black
Burnt
Dead
Gone
Ashes flowing through the air with no help from the wind
The bark, its wood, deadly read
Blood filled
Poisonous to the touch
That’s all it can offer
Deadly alive but never dies
Never is it fully dead
Drips of water begin to fall
Sweat
Heat
Falls so slow . . . barely . . .
Touches the ground
Then vanishes
Not completely
Partially
It’s there
It stains
Scars
Scarred
Dark
Not clear
Thick
Hot
Blood
Not of an animal
Not of a human
But of the tree
Running slowly
Dripping
Not invisible
Noticeable
Its tears
Tears of the tree
This is what it has to offer
The roots in the ground
Its strength
Its power
Deep under
Six, seven, eight feet down
Within the earth
Strong
Its grip on the world, on reality
It wavers the fantasy
Living
It’s alive
Its breathing
Taking
Hurting
Killing
Its world, not ours
Its universe, not ours
This is what it has to offer
Extending
It grows
YOU ARE READING
Hulagens 101
PoetryTo make someone laugh can seem so easy but when you're up on stage with a mic in your hand and little sweat drops falling off your face . . . you're petrified . . . Of course, one reason is because you aren't funny. Another may be because you...
