As fall came to a close,
I traveled along a road.
The path wasn't written in prose,
This, I carry as my load.
I paid little attention to the scenery,
For all paths and forests are the same.
They're all covered in greenery,
And marred with a similar name.
I, however, did notice one detail,
A rugged, bruised stone,
Set in the midst of my trail.
It had yet to be shone,
What the meaning of this stone was,
But in truth, I had no clue.
Surrounding the stone was a hazy fuzz,
And so the chaos did ensue.
I sat on the stone and conversed with it for days.
The twig nearby joined in, and we became friends.
Winter came, and together we stays.
But eventually the tide rolls in that changes the trends.
I rose from the stone to choose a path,
But I could not see the stone reach out to me.
I chose a path free of math,
I ran straight into a tree.
The tree captivated me as it uprooted itself,
This could not be.
I was speechless myself.
It wasn't long before the tree,
Had tangled me up in its roots.
I was not me,
Just a puppet on strings made of roots.
Spring did bloom,
But I was still a puppet,
And soon,
You will here a trumpet,
Announcing the transformation.
Summer came, and I began to detach from the tree,
I lost myself in a world of distraction,
Unbeknownst to me, the tree was in agony.
It had, quite literally, grown attached to me.
Once I realized this,
I drifted back to the tree,
And immersed myself in a world of bliss.
Fall returned, and I decided to come clean.
I shed my skin, and was born anew.
The thought in my head was quite keen:
I wanted the tree to accept me anew.
To my surprise, the tree accepted,
And bliss ensued throughout fall.
Winter returned, and the tree intercepted,
My attempts at learning all,
Of the tree's darkest secrets.
Spring bloomed anew,
And I knew none of the tree's secrets.
Then, the tree left me without a clue,
In the midst of the path we'd been traveling.
I laid there the remainder of the spring,
Hoping to see the tree returning.
The tree did not ring.
Summer returned, and I pushed myself off the ground.
I rushed after the tree hoping to stop it.
I kept this up the rest of summer, but in the end I found,
The tree had deceived me and used me as a puppet.
As fall approached, I trudged forward along the path aimlessly,
Until I found my way back to the meadow with the stone.
I realized that I had left the stone and twig alone carelessly,
I made a pact to atone.
I spent the rest of that fall deciding what path to take.
As winter returned, I still hadn't a decision.
Then I watched as the trees began to sway and ache,
And a gust rushed in causing an incision.
The stone was badly bruised,
But the gust was a blessing in disguise.
As my eyes cruised,
I realized the point of this reprise.
With the force of the gust,
The haze that had guarded the stone was absent,
And for the first time without rust,
I could see the stone had been bent.
I realized throughout the entire time, the stone,
Was the one who was truly alone.
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The Hobo Tales # 2
I think this thing now consists of mostly poetry and song lyrics. Enjoy anyway.
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Signatures are for squares.