A poem I wrote while taking a Creative Writing class at GRCC years ago. I am in love with it to this day. So, I put it on my blog. Creative freedom, people.


The Beauty and the Tree


There existed the perfect woman

as timeless as the sea,

whose elegance and grace

could lazy honey bees.


For her, the townspeople parted,

standing safe in shadows of envy

She left glamour in her wake, every heart she did take

The town treasure, she was an infinite ending.


Tall and regally stunning

and spectacular as she

stood in the depths of her acres of forest

a faultless maple tree.


These leaves they sang like water

The trunk climbed stories with ease

And the breathlessness it brought her

Was her sole serenity.


One day, a wide-eyed child

whose age was merely six

stumbled upon the maple

and was immediately transfixed.


So immense was this child’s discovery,

folks hailed from North and West

to see that glorified maple

and confirm ’twas the best of the best.


She smiled and granted all entrance

to the renowned forest with the hidden tree

She counted their heads and wished them all dead

sinking further into a grave of unease.


The world before her turned a deep jade-green

She grew desperate with dread as an internal plea

morphed her tall confidant into her dire enemy-

the looming threat to her vital harmony.


When moonlight dusted the maple

and its leaves glimmered hopeful and free,

the woman swung her red ax

and took a chunk out of her knee.


She chopped and chopped as the sweat poured on,

mixing with blood as it dripped from her lashes

With one last blow, she cut straight through her heart

and watched her tree fall, ugly with gashes.


Travelers went home and took the splendor with them

leaving the townsfolk confusedly wandering

With relief, she came to town, and they all realized that they’d found

the piece that fit the hole they’d been pondering.


With a gust of her beauty she swept them back up,

blinding them so they’d never see

that she’s haggard inside and rotting alive,

axed by her own poverty.



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