Todays daily piece is not really new, but rather, a necessary return to roots.
This was the first of my poems that was ever published, receiving second place in a free-verse poetry contest at my university in 2012 and with it, a spot in the literary journal called Prometheus (along with another of my poems and the first of a trilogy of short stories).
I hesitated to post it here for a long time, as I was initially very concerned with privacy, and didn’t want any possible link to my real identity, but that time has long passed, and now, I figured it was a good time to share this here (along with a reading, which was fun, as I remember how nervous I was when I read this at the ceremony and it is empowering to see how far I have come since).
Branches are but roots
Unconfined
By the jealous earth
Ever reaching for the sky
Getting closer with each passing year
The tips of their slender fingers
Curling slowly
Wrapping themselves around the illusion of space
Then unfurling in a curious effort
To touch the light itself
To reach the stars
And to hold them tightly
If only to know they are really there
Under the watchful gaze of these branches
Children play
They learn to love
To hate
To take
And finally to give
The branches laugh
In a most jovial manner
At the panic that resides within the eyes
Of those endowed with sight
But not vision
And observe
Of their own accord
Until the day comes
When they are severed from their base
And thrown into a pit
To be burned
Smoke is but branches
Set free of form
And carried upwards
Ever reaching for the sky
Objects, and the Distance Between Them 