I am Keziah

A Poem: On Being Still

Oh how I envy the tree though seen to be a still figure

There is so much movement in their lives,

For when the Wind's temper is calm, it kisses the trees and their green leaves swoon and sway

then when the wind is angry it strips them bare,

in between the kisses and the stripping

the tree grows,

grows to bask in the sun's warm embrace.

oh how I envy the tree,

it appreciates the smallest of miracles,

like how the sun is not too far and not too close,

simply so it can grow just right.

How the wind aids her when she is ready to rid of her clothing.

A life standing still but still moving, that's the life of a tree.

Me however, the wind no longer drenches me in honey kisses

He no longer makes me feel the cold sharp fists of winter, or the silk breeze of summer. The wind does not move me

The sun no longer brings warmth to me and neither do your golden eyes.

A mans words no longer move me, I just wait for the first lie to seep out,

For a line to stick out in his wonderfully crafted sonnet

I wait for the moment his eyes deceive his mouth.

Oh the tree understands me more than ever

For she knows heartbreak too well,

For she is wooed by spring and summer seduces her,

but autumn leaves her empty,

her leaves drained of its rich green leaving behind furious reds,

sorrowful oranges,

hopeful yellows and pitiful browns.

But the tree must be in love with love for she goes through it again and again, surrendering herself to love every single day

How do her leaves grow,

knowing they will be hurt and taken away

How does she bring so much beauty to the world,

whilst be condemned to one place for eternity.

Forgive me, but I envy how forgiving she is,

How open she is

How she seems so free

How she lives with pain

How she is not afraid to hurt a lot to love a lot more.

Though a living being, without love, happiness, even sadness and anger

I feel as though I am stuck motionless, emotionless.

Still.

By Keziah Toneka Moore