Hollow Tree

By Jon W.


Sun bleeds through empty horizontal lines

Giving birth to present

And death to past.

Today wind grazes grass

Already touched



The lone squirrel hides atop a low branch

A veil of leaves conceals him from the grey cat

Standing below.

But the orange tabby

Laying on the cement, doused in apathy

Sees with clarity.

Clouds hold hands and pour their cold sorrows

Into the trees

And onto the grass.

Two are gone, and one remains

Simply watching as life unfolds

Into crease-lined boxes

Of many a shameful creation

Shame. Sadness. Anger. Guilt.


Free from the confines of regulation

Yet forever burdened

With his design of

A hollow tree

with a broken branch.



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