In the dim crescent light,
I could see a tree’s leafless arms;
Asymmetrical and vivid, they held
The ability to capture my charm.

The light lucky enough to survive
And make it through the sculpted outline,
Looked like a beams of black and blue
Swaying in the still life.

Amidst the perforated dark sky,
The tree seemed to wave to me.
It resounded my name in a silent voice to
Call me in the slightest breeze.

There’s reason to the term
“The Tree of Life”,
For everything mirrored that name,
In my keen, focused eye.

At the beginning; as a seedling,
The tree is easily moved by the wind,
But in growing a stronger trunk,
The tree is sturdier in the end.

As it grew branches,
I made the connection
That there may have been Others
That affected its direction.

They stemmed from the trunk,
The center of its being;
Each branch has its own story;
Each its own entity.

Resembling the likeness
Of uni-colored human veins,
I saw the light eventually dying
As a result of hopeless faith.

Yet now that the trunk
Refuses to be moved,
The branches are now the ones
That, by the wind, must be tried and proved.

Its bark was not perfect
Only opposite it showed
And when I smiled knowing this,
The tree nodded for me to go.

Ambling blindly away from the tree,
I found myself glancing back behind.
How could I ever freely discover
And learn from my own Tree of Life?