Monday, November 11, 2013
The Maple Tree
Maybe I'm just not as strong as I thought as I was. I seemed to bounce back so fast, to the point that I even made a few off-color jokes about it. I smiled. I laughed. I was energized. But beneath it all I'd feel these moments of welling terror, of panic.
What is going to happen to me? How can this be real?
I'm in disbelief that I am who I am. I hate myself a little. And a part of me wants to do it again. But damn it, I have resolved not to think that way, and I'm going to keep the promise I made when I came out of the hospital to give this life of mine the good college try.
Oh, my God. How has this really happened? How did I become this thing?
I looked out my bedroom window several days ago to see a maple tree, resplendent with autumn glory as its leaves glowed golden-red in the setting sun. This morning, seemingly out of nowhere, the tree was almost bare and suddenly ugly. I thought that it would be irredeemably sad but for the fact that it will one day come to life again. Spring can only be so many months after Fall.
The maple tree is weeping now
Its red and amber tears
It sheds its little stars of grief
They make a bed of fear
The tree has lost what made it whole
Its shining emerald hands
That time and nature one day stole
Have fallen in the stands
The wind that's whirling through its holes
Screams like a mournful wail
The branches empty, brown, and dead
Bow low as if to fail
The tree holds on with stubborn roots
And though it's hung with doom
It stands high hoping one day that
It once again might bloom