The Arching Tree

By Elianna Mayer

He stands still,
Nervously
Elegantly
Holding branches of hopes
And dreams and sun-kissed leaves.

They wrestle,
There’s music, There’s wind.
They play. And he laughs
For above is the sky
But the joy shaded his lonely soul
They spoke to him in ways but words.
And he was in his prime.

Until the magic left his bones,
And the leaves left his side.
Death took toll inevitably,
Painfully, one at a time.
They fell before his rooted trunk,
And now he only could bow down.
Wounded soul, he arched with grasping hands.
Sky, give me back what was once mine.