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When the Trees Outshone the Sun

When the Trees Outshone the Sun

When upon the mossy rocks I climbed
I took my small respite
And I smelled the clean air, took it in, and made it mine.

I stole an insight of the land,
The great mounded rocks and saw such blight:
(Very long ago) of sleeping giants, felled by Man’s demand.

The trees hung low,
With promise of cool leaves, so I moved on
Into their comforting fingers, though some may call them boughs.

The wind moved through the trees,
Those leafy greatened obelisks, and gave song
In communion with my thoughts; a reverent sea.

And now the trees themselves gave voice,
Their outstretched arms all filled with birds,
It filled the windows of my mind, to see nature’s simple rejoice.

And still I climbed the rocky hills,
My hands met cuts from bark and rock,
Such sharp-fanged persistence, have those foes of my climbing will!

When my climb finally did end
I looked upon the forest and beheld, my gaze and mind a lock,
On Rocks and trees as they began to blend.

The sunset came but not looked me,
I merely saw the land, and smiled
And remembered and bid goodbye to those pretty trees.

The sun hath fury and hath shine,
But its beauty did not overtake the wonder of my climb.

{{the hanged man's folly}} [a poem]

Today in history, we watched Schindler's list. And I couldn't help but think what must've been going through the minds of the guards. Surely they hadn't much choice but to serve. Serve or die. And I wonder what they thought of as they killed people. Maybe they told themselves those people weren't human.

But it really struck me. Stuck with me. So I wrote this poem. Same concept. Though I, as a renaissance sort of person, wrote more medieval a guard at a hanging. Watching the condemned man's face.

Hanged Man's Folly

Hope of the hopeless
as sad as the broken
thinking on
when there is no future
you destitute hopeful
delusion and folly
but still
the breathing comes
if you hold on.

Why wait for death to claim you?
Go gladly into his arms.
For there's nothing left to hope for,
no dreams, no clouds, no stars.

Yet still you look through
foolish man
who clings to the edges..
Even though your sun has set
you remain staring

I cannot comprehend why you stare so,
on and on
into the darkness,
eyes searching for light
searching and praying
for a way to take flight.

But you can't see what's happening around
you cannot hear
that ominous sound
a drum roll
a crash
the floor now is dropped
and you swing in the breeze
staring
staring.