...And Did a Barren Tree Arise from My Tears

In a fit of melancholy do I see
An orange sun, shrouded in mist,
Behind a barren tree.

I tread along a forlorn trail,
The wind my only companion,
And she doth wail.

My great Northern friend plays the branches of the barren tree
With musical genius; and with impossible beauty,
She dances about me.

Crystal lakes and golden rivers
Fill my mind;
My body shivers.

In the distance, booming thunder
In purple clouds
And endless wonder.

Climbing evermore higher into the sky,
A red moon
Pierces my eye.

The orange sun, behind the barren tree,
Again sinks evermore lower
Into the infinite sea.

What is the fuel for this ancient fire?
'Tis this puissant force
That I forever desire.

My sinews tense, my being aches
With a swirling black fever
That never breaks.

In the foggy light of the dying orange sun,
I think of the barren tree and why it exists,
Thusly towards it do I run.

My cold, wet shadow floats easily
Across the spongy, decaying leaves
That lie dead beneath my feet.

I slow my pace, and I raise my eyes
To the cloudiness, to the mistiness,
To the dreary gray skies.

As I walk, I begin to see,
Then stop to wonder
Of this barren tree.

As I ponder this barren tree,
I come to realize,
It's inside me.

For 'tis sadness for my lonely part.
Begotten by sorrow,
'Tis autumn in my tired heart.

---

Originally written:    August 27, 2000
Put online:    March 10, 2001
Discussion:    The inspiration for this poem came from the cover of Empyrium's "Songs of Moors and Misty Fields" CD, a painting by Juergen Holzhausen. The poem itself deals with isolation, loneliness, depression, and the beauty of Nature that is evident in every weather condition.


Back to the Index