Mr. Pole
I wonder how that tree feels next to that pole.
Knowing that it's alive and that old pole is dead.
Knowing that no matter how much rain enters that pole's soul.
Knowing that no matter how much warmth the sun may hit that pole.
It cannot continue to grow old.
It cannot give life to the things around it.
Only artificial sun rays.
Only things that man made.
Because only man made it so.
Does this black pole know it's dead?
Does he know that the life around him is trying to give him life?
Does he know that the tree branches are reaching our for dear life to save his what seems to be dead soul?
Does he know?
Maybe the tree feels lucky.
That she, the tree, has not been touch by such evil as we.
That she can continue giving life to the people who may have killed that pole.
That she is lucky to escape the evils of we, and continue to grow old.
Or maybe she is sad.
Sad that her dear friend Mr. Pole can no longer grow old.
He can no longer receive the sun's warm hugs, that comfort him to grow.
He can longer feel the rain's kisses when he is too dry to move about.
She is sad for Mr. Pole.
She is sad because we have taken away a dear friend's soul.
Because we have committed unjustifiable acts against the friend of she.
And even though she is still alive to give off her well needed wisdom.
Even though her breath is needed for we to survive.
She knows it could her turn to become man made.
I wonder how we feel knowing she could be next.
-L.J. Hughes