12 AM Thoughts || Original Midnight Poetry

The Tree Made From the Sea

There's no right word for the friend that came from the sea,
Where the depths are deepest and darkness unseen.
Yet from that darkness comes the lightness of foam,
That sits atop the surface to give color to our dome.
There's no word for that one friend whose foam fell into the lakes,
Dancing to spread life amongst the greats.
To create the life that transformed the lake to ducweed,
That feeds the aquatic lives of all sorts of breeds.
When at the lowest point, can drag you from the depths below,
Whose words are the whistle of the wind that blows.
That friend whose hug feels of wool and smells of sandlewood,
Whose freckles smile a thousand words the poets wish they could.
Those freckles are the grooves of a tree,
Every groove leading into kind, brown eyes that listen so genuinely.
The canopy of the tree grows small, mushroom spores,
Each just an extending hand to learn more of my ever-growing lore.
Every branch, an arm to wrap around,
The feet that often feel sunken in the ground.
There are no right words for the friend by my side at every go,
When my heart is bleeding and I have no one else to show.
As my flower falls from the leaves of a blossom,
Growing heavy from the water that forces against my chest,
I cave from the weight and draw some,
Memories that retaliate an ivy mess.
The tumbling of pesticides poison, they burn,
It stretches, I yearn, it is my pistil that churns.
When the water presses me further, fear catching my breath,
I reach to the surface, and low and behold,
While never will it be gone, my pistil loses much its heft,
The branch, two of a kind, reaches one of many manifolds.
Heaviness of the lake's grasp turns into a puddle,
Dripping from the leaves as I'm replanted in the dirt's long cuddle.
While knowing the rain may again wash me away,
His branches will always be there for me to stay.
From my mortality, the puddle turns to rejuvenate,
Strengthening my roots as my mind begins to renovate.
There's no right words for the friend to travel journeys with in dreams,
Whose patchouli flowers peek from the deepest of greens.
The very friend I am with so happily,
The tree from the depths of the sea.