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My Old Vineyard

[Here is an anonymously submitted poem. Rather long, very metaphysical, one of my favorites from this young writer.]

 

My Old Vineyard

I once thought our love to be invincible by nature:

Two seeds close in proximity growing wildly and out. Our life-vines touched each other, and wrapped. We hugged and tugged and spun and held, till one vine we had become. A thing of beauty, we then were: a great wall of green and strength of twists and curls. How perfectly we slid together. A thing of perfection, we had approached, with each crevice and bump fitting flawlessly in place, and no room to waste. Brain-like was our appearance; soul-like was our purpose.

Exploration was all we knew as growth took us over and outward together. A new fencepost, one would find and drag the other (or did the other follow on his own) to this new discovery, this new moment, now a timeless memory that would be written in our very shape, that we still now hold. These ties would immortalize our love, our nature, and forever could we feel our way through the world. This love, so strong, would retain its shape even with our physical connection severed. So intricate our ties had become, that parts of me in you still lie, and vice versa as it were...

At current time my perspective needs review, for your eyes and skin are in a new land, and poison it has given you. Your love is now twisted, tight and narrow. Adapted to your new environment, you now withdraw, and, like a tall branchless tree of Lake Anna, you stand unmoved. Exploration is now forgotten, and growing freely is now a sin. You now grow in one direction, up, and just a little bit fatter. Watch now as you harden and put on your tough brown bark... Where are your leaves now, o wise tree? What happened to your shades of green and underside of aqua?

Compassion is left behind as your pierce the sky. I worry about you, and wonder if you will ever see what you are doing... if you will know the pain that you now ignore:

  Wilt thou yield to birds that fly?
  Wilt thou yield to clouds so high?
  Wilt thou give thy past another glance?
  Wilt thou give thy self one last chance?

  ...no...

  ...then wilt, thee...

Sharp bark shows malice to ripe round vine. They begin to ooze a sweet, red fructose juice, which now feeds you, Tree, one last time before falling limp, leaving you with no support for which life can climb. And your old companion, vineyard—ME, must find a solace of doctoral degree to help repair its fallen mind.

Vines are pesky flowers and refuse to fall and rot, so you need not worry... you have too much work at current time anyway. Your bark still needs to thick for coming winter days, and it seems that they will last. So keep—"Growing Up," as you call it, advancing in your unidirectional way. Perhaps you will, with enough height, allow wind to give you sway until, through the corner of an eye, you see your old distant remains living only in my vineyard, every moment growing old and dying dry. Even the most lifeless of the remains keep getting caught by my vines before they can fall to the ground to rot, for they're not worth throwing away.

I, myself, will flourish in my expanse, holding on to these dry twigs that helped me once to feel the world just a little better. So much have we never even dreamed of being: to leave this wood and settle on the edge of a house, to run down along the top of a backyard gate, fill in a garden and perhaps begin to nourish our fruits. But you now cannot help, so I am left to set out in search of a new green.

And all the while, you keep your one path growth. Unmoving, dark, barren, hard and cold, you can hardly feel your toes dug so deep into the ground, keeping you down, still, and straight. Just a tree in your forest of loneliness...
and not
a leaf
left
to

f
a
l
l
.
.
.

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Comments

 Very descriptive. I like it.

 Very descriptive. I like it.