Save This Poem

this poem needs to be
saved from itself
it is way over the hill.
dry words on dead

grass.
Long ago it
ceased to be useful
you would be
keeping it
from being taken
by its own
dark and useless powers.

There are words in here
over a thousand years old.

They have collaborated with

other creatures
and been spoken
with air
that has been inside
the leaves of trees.

These words
 spoken
are a quiet forest.

These words 

quiet 

are a scre-

aming banshee ..

Some of the words
are no longer 

useful
truth love  forgiveness etc..

And down there isn’t that an
old man digging for buried
meaning in the
earth ?
there is blood ...
an owl keeps pecking at the old man

there is life here
these words are
inside the trees again

what happens
to our words
happens to the forest

what happens to the forest
happens
to us.

we need to cut falsities

instead of trees...

photograph courtesy-paintedstork.com