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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Welcome to my experience.

Submitted: July 17, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 17, 2018





Under the tree that whistles

lies a sharp and pointed thistle

that pokes and prods

whenever I intend to leave this little spot under the whistling tree. 


A bunny hops

it has four eyes and two legs, 

and I poke it with a peg

to shoo it away. 


I hear you call my name, 

as a hundred others do, 

and I hear curses that are whispered

apparently from me to you. 


They say I've infected you, injected you, 

and i must run away;

there's no more time for play under this whistling tree today.


They get louder and louder and I don't know what to do

so I get up and run, I run right past you. 


I'm in danger, can't you see? 

My shadow senses it and bolts ahead of me, 

leaving me unprotected. 

I stop and shiver, cry and quiver, 

as I lose myself within the night. 

There's no coming back and you've gone, 

I've gone, 

and the whistling tree seeks revenge. 


I go roughly into that good night

beaten and scarred, 

feathered and tarred, 

and you are there beneath the whistling tree with angel wings

out of my reach. 


I lay on the ground beneath the spotlight

curled with my knees to my chest, 

my best defense 

against the dark arts. 

You fly to heaven and I am alone, truly alone, 

comforted by the whistling tree. 

© Copyright 2019 A.D. Ware. All rights reserved.

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