Wisdom Cypress (Poem)

Wisdom Cypress

-There’s a timid tower accompanying my path to work. 

-It needs no utterings to boast the hells of 69, and its rusty needles pinpoint its persecution. 

-Many mornings, it’s displayed timber of yesterday’s bakes. 

-It resembles acts of David, to its Goliath, the sun. 

-In doing so, what naked eye could not fathom its falter? 

-Grinding the grit, roots crush and crawl for any drop to be seized. 

-Only parched clay is present, bearing no preservation, and crannies and crevices speak a cypress frustration. 

-The company of the robin’s perch no longer prevails. 

-Abandoned by the squirrels’ fierce chase, rustling and chattering upon various limbs, its only visitors remain the occasional passersby.
-Not even half will pay the branches deep suffering notice. 

-Such a cursed world spares neither fauna nor flora. 

-How could such a denominator not demand and require regard and appreciation for all kinds of life, from every inhabitant Mother bore? 

-My heart snapped like one of its frail limbs when I accept its seemingly imminent demise.   

-Yet, no matter how rouge nature’s will strays, like man’s away from the Maker’s, it heels and kneels to Him. 

-He flings all my logic to the dogs. 

-With thunderous breaths, current and torrent privileges remain His. 

-The joyous dousings and drenchings they forge—his calculated biddings
—privileged healing nourishment. 

-Faunas and ferns praise sonic booms, overjoyed by lightning’s arriving additions. 

-He extracted the sizzling of the weeks, from cracked timber, from which green’s bloom would soon peek. 

-Once inches from death, it inches towards life.
-His mighty force saves its system from the fight. 

-From now on, let those needles pinpoint me to wisdom.

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