Tree Life

NYCSPITZ · 10-06-2013, 08:10 PM

Maple leaves on sidewalk stone, this reed is a force
moving mortar; these Autumn red crowns seethe on the floor.
Some turn, showing a pale gold regal decor
as joy leaves the tree which barely even breathes anymore...
a couple sit on the park bench - he's seen it before
He's seen suppressed rage morph into a vehement roar.

Life slithered and crawled and tittered and teemed on his skin
middle aged at ninety-four years...he needed a friend.
They say orange and yellow used to be his seasonal trend
'til the Summer he met Sam. When the bleeding began.
He knew before that certain humans sensed the beat of his ken
...samaras spiraled close to show he'd like to meet them again
it was a decades long game...
one he needed to win.
He was green. That summer breeze carried spiritual zest
When Sam and Mary came gaping at his miracle crest
veiny, fingery apex. Vibe bitter and stressed.
"Hey there tree," Sam said. The mirrors reflect.
A drawn pocketknife. Hearted initials seared on his flesh.
they loved watching birds fly - he had a peer to connect.
Sam lived a hop South and just a veer to the left.
Started coming alone and brought a trace of fear with his breath.
Which disappeared when they communed. Two sentient beings.
with heightened awareness, calm and a penchant for dreams
Sam sat on his trunk for hours, talked and rested his knees
the corrugated bark soothed Sam and left him at ease.
One night Sam came to him wheezing, his hand carried his chest
followed by a group of twenty-odd various men.
their cone tipped robes exuded some nefarious zen
one of them paused...stepping forward to herald his death
"..nigger you're never gonna be seeing my Mary again"
and just as he was hung, and tears dripped from his face
Sam's final clarion call: the helpless script of his rage.

Maple leaves on sidewalk stone, this reed is a force
moving mortar; these Autumn red crowns seethe on the floor.
Some turn, showing a pale gold regal decor
as joy leaves the tree which barely even breathes anymore...
a couple sit on the park bench - he's seen it before
He's seen suppressed rage morph into a vehement roar.

10-06-2013, 08:10 PM	#1
NYCSPITZ SYRACUSE Join Date: Jan 2013 Posts: 4,031 Battle Record: 31-37 Champed - Write Night II - Alias Topical Tournament Rep Power: 4743547	Tree Life Maple leaves on sidewalk stone, this reed is a force moving mortar; these Autumn red crowns seethe on the floor. Some turn, showing a pale gold regal decor as joy leaves the tree which barely even breathes anymore... a couple sit on the park bench - he's seen it before He's seen suppressed rage morph into a vehement roar. Life slithered and crawled and tittered and teemed on his skin middle aged at ninety-four years...he needed a friend. They say orange and yellow used to be his seasonal trend 'til the Summer he met Sam. When the bleeding began. He knew before that certain humans sensed the beat of his ken ...samaras spiraled close to show he'd like to meet them again it was a decades long game... one he needed to win. He was green. That summer breeze carried spiritual zest When Sam and Mary came gaping at his miracle crest veiny, fingery apex. Vibe bitter and stressed. "Hey there tree," Sam said. The mirrors reflect. A drawn pocketknife. Hearted initials seared on his flesh. they loved watching birds fly - he had a peer to connect. Sam lived a hop South and just a veer to the left. Started coming alone and brought a trace of fear with his breath. Which disappeared when they communed. Two sentient beings. with heightened awareness, calm and a penchant for dreams Sam sat on his trunk for hours, talked and rested his knees the corrugated bark soothed Sam and left him at ease. One night Sam came to him wheezing, his hand carried his chest followed by a group of twenty-odd various men. their cone tipped robes exuded some nefarious zen one of them paused...stepping forward to herald his death "..nigger you're never gonna be seeing my Mary again" and just as he was hung, and tears dripped from his face Sam's final clarion call: the helpless script of his rage. Maple leaves on sidewalk stone, this reed is a force moving mortar; these Autumn red crowns seethe on the floor. Some turn, showing a pale gold regal decor as joy leaves the tree which barely even breathes anymore... a couple sit on the park bench - he's seen it before He's seen suppressed rage morph into a vehement roar.