Dear Goth

Chapter XXXIV

The Tree

The tree of which

Borne a wild hawk, which

In it’s youth grew strong

Now in old age, looks to

Inherit the earth it came from.

The hawk now turned to dust,

Maybe twenty years ago, the

Tree a wise friend who remembers

Him well. Never complained of

The lonely hours he could count.

Seems he is aching to be, like that

Hawk a man again. To crush the dung

Beetle that was the man that cut him

Down. Seems somehow karma’s justice

Will suffice, just enough.

Just like me. ‘o hawk in the night;

This world is a fright. It’s futile

To demand. Judged once and left aside.

When a man swears to avenge himself,

They all say that’s wrong. But when a

Man swears god will avenge him, it’s just.

Even when the mad man swears god will

Punish someone to excuse (verb) his glib excuse (noun),

‘oh how blind they have become.

Someday we will see again. That nature

Is just, that somehow it’s cosmic game,

Which throws luck out the window.

Is anywhere better than here?

-winter 2015