My skin once was bark,
I held birds in my green hair.
The morning air, held my cries
as I fell in the river
after that cruel metal
bit so deep into me.
…
My arms that once reached to the sky an out across the land,
cut.
My free love and enjoyment of life itself,
stolen.
My toes that felt the soft warm mud,
buried.
…
Bleeding sawdust I am reduced to boards.
A table is made from my bones.
A toxic slime is smeared all over me,
A deep rich varnish.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
Roots, like hearts are hidden,
under where people blindly step.
The fruit on the tree is made,
nourished, and sacrificed for
by that, which is unseen.
Not until the soil is dead,
and all the water is drank, dry,
does the fruit tree tip over,
and the broken heart leak,
and shows what layed silent
under the feet of fools
a inverted crown of roots,
snap,
an abused highway of veins,
strangles,
the dying servant
kissed by fire,
turned to ash,
before the empty sockets,
of starving eyes.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Gravel roads, softly covered,
dust, like powdered sugar,
Trees, thick and red,
larger than a mighty metal bus,
higher and warmer,
than a tall cold building,
“Have we traveled back in time?” I ask my wife.
The 2004 Prius, rolls quietly,
tires massage the earth,
a gentle slow respect,
I am fearful,
the moment will soon be
lost.
On the Pacific Coast,
a warm summers day,
Jebidiah Smith Redwoods,
natures pure moment
planted in my heart,
without a sound.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Zachary W Gilbert, Author 