A distinguished yew tree silently stands before me,
speaking of regeneration and rebirth
and all that is everlasting,
within my heart it resides,
while monumental, it is a temporary fixture,
nonetheless an awe-inspiring picture.
Who planted this reminder for me, to never give up?
A sign that, during times of impassioned illness and
ill choices there is still hope?
The yew promises me time will continue on,
and there will always be that turning point known as Hope.
My mind aches at the thought of beings once in my world,
who, in their dilapidated state could not draw themselves
away from the saddening muck that stills their lives,
some remain happy to exist in their quagmire,
they feel their current situation is something to treasure.
There is no sign of a yew for them to never give up,
any hope for advancement has sadly been pinned down.
Talk of hopes and dreams is dismissively cast aside,
too difficult, too unattainable, unmanageable,
by their own reasoning.
I want to show them my yew.
I wish to inspire them, too.
Had I remained sunken in my mud pit,
I may have drowned like the rest of them,
a reflection into an ability of an awful mentality,
dark times, though infrequent, featured,
Now, my tree becomes a home for my thoughts,
within its leaves and branches I bury my phrases,
my toiled words, my loose metaphors,
because maybe at a later point,
they’ll come in handy,
or at least perhaps they’ll remain as personal pictures,
destined to become tidy and used mindfully.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.
Image by Ilona Ilyés from Pixabay
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