Tree (PM)

tree (revised)

my trunk shows history of torn lives

my branches weighed down by misunderstanding 

they bare odd fruit, novel to anything I’ve seen 

the fruit screams sways with the wind, and pleads 

these branches, wrapped in rope to bare strange fruit 

the likes unseen by me, this fruit seems bruised and expired

covered in its own fluid 

battered and damaged as if it had witnessed war

strong winds sway my leaves, and branches

the odd fruit i bare floating and swaying with the wind too

i see crowds of children and adults alike

frolicking and full of joy, they surround the odd fruit 

i hear chants and screams from the crowd

wishing that could rid the weight of this odd fruit

the children who seem blue and carefree

the adults seen in triumph 

as if they were joyous to see this strange fruit 

as if the rotten byproduct was a victory 

as if the smell and sight was transparent and undetectable 

my branches cannot bare the weight of this fruit any longer

the vices of the people weighing me down

the condition of humans is one of pride

for they do not have interest in sparing this fruit 

they’d rather it rot than partake in it

my tree branches too short to box with God

my thoughts not loud enough to project dissatisfaction 

my old tree trunk covered in strange fruit 

the toxins of rotten product 

the byproduct of vice, the killer of joy

what killed me the most is the families that could’ve benefited from this strange fruit, those who hunger, those who thirst

tree

copyright © micah hill 2024