My mind
in a perpetuous mobility,
Like droplets in a dark pool
dares drop deep the sickness
of the dark, mossy tree.
I stare in disbelief of it -
Ye' oak, how many have climbed
your branches,
before falling in the pit
of the abyssal trenches?
Each blow it takes,
I fall...
So I can awake, in despair
to find, my dear sunken oak
in death - a powerful tear.
* Since I lack the appropriate category/subcategory for this, I would personally name it as a poem about dedication or some sort of ideal, morality or judgement.
* Closest fit so far would be a misc. poem, unless the lack of better placing it would be filled in another way. At any rate, enjoy.
