Umbrella-like leaves—hadn't they vanished?
Won’t the spine still breathe?
Whispers in the woods, like a crayon sketch once drawn—
Wouldn’t it have reached the velvet-like clouds?
The satellite no longer uses it as a landmark.
The tornado would've never played its tricks.
The waffle-creaking sound, the ripples, the beat, the breaking ground—
That's what our life never was.
Time always travels clockwise—and it's pretty sad.
But what if mine is stuck,
while the surroundings pass too fast?
Rewinding it would erase
the only thing that ever put me together.
But maybe, in stillness,
I’ll find a way to mend the cracks—
the price for moments lost
in time’s cruel sway.
Note: this poem is about a person who witnesses the death of a tree they drew when they were a kid. This tree associates with a lot of memories for that person the death of it brings a lot of grief. They feel like they went from childhood and got stuck at adulthood. They feel stagnant because of no progress and wish they could time but doubt reversing it would lead to lose of only thing that bonds them to life.
