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Of A Wounded Branch





there's a wounded branch
on a leafless tree
I can see it dangling
hanging down
outside my balcony
I don't know how that branch
hangs on
with all this rain
and the pulling wind's
moaning
song

how does it continue to hang there
by the thinnest of shreds
the branch itself
nearly blackened
nearly dead

(does any one really care)

near the break
is a faint small spot of green
and one must keenly look
before it is seen
I know
that wounded branch
its surely me

black crows scavenge near
my window every day
I feed them nuts
tiny bits of seed
which sometimes the crows fail to find
so then the bits burrow and decay

often I too have felt lost like that
too much that buried way

how do these crows continue, thrive
while so few I see merely try to survive
is there some lesson they could teach me
so I won't have to think on
those decaying seeds
growing into worry weeds

sometimes
bits of my life don't flourish or
fail to sprout and grow
I'd like to be able to focus
on the better things
and have more to show
from the parts of my life
that make up me

sometimes
I need help to persevere
to succeed and see
so that my blacker thoughts
remain at bay or
can begin to slow

if only
I could know
just long enough
so I can begin better to sow
some of those bluer skies
and grasp at the yet
un-realized
and not just the gruff
of harder times
not be
that wounded branch




blue menu:
Legal
Copyright November 20, 2016/ 7:11 am PST
for this poem/work, by this author/writer
Melissa Ann Howells/Meloo
straight from her legal copyright
site: Tilt-a-World

reedited December 2, 2016
5:09 am PST





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