Lamentations At Midnight

Set me free from this lush, green grass, and glades of willow trees,

they sway, they sweep, they speak to me, beneath this large dark canopy,

Blades of green on my fingertips, speaking words of sorrow on these dry, pray filled lips, let me be born unto death

Release me from this soft kiss, from the hellbound sweetest sip,

From the marmalade laced with Vegemite, turpentine-like bliss

Touch me not, I beg, life's caresses much like decay to my stump,

Set me free, said the tree, and do not delay.

For 60 years a tree may stay,

The branches, broken, and cracking have felt many pains,

by circumstance within it's branch, or events unfortunate to be seen,

and though the beauty be liken to everglades, I beg you set me free.

I say to them, set me free.

No foliage, no blooming flower, no fruit to even spare, no not a single thing to give is why I so despair.

Unlike you, standing so fair, I have not a thing to give.

My foliage though blossoming, is late and long past spring, and bugs, bats, and crawly things take refuge in my shade.

A big disservice, with much less rest, is why I feel ashamed.

So, set me free, I beg.

For I have a cause more than you to feel a certain way, I do.

Yes, that's why I am blue.

Perhaps, we've cried and looked upon the things that make us feel unworthy?

But who ever picked an apple and expected anything except something lopsided, unevenly smooth, or curvy?

No single tree is free from pests, wasps, or bugs of green.

But all these complications make a tree what it ought to be.

The bee makes it's honey, the cat takes shade, the aphid's feast like a wild craze,

butterflies drink dew,

acorns grow and drop, too

the caterpillar munches,

the crows stalks and glide,

the squirrel's take refuge within the bark,

and the little child climbs,

all whilst the branches provide the dark.

Perhaps, sometimes it is too sticky, dry, and cracked?

But this tree has a purpose, one that is exact,

and even unto this very spot where it's always sat.