The Patience of a Tree
The Patience of a Tree By Thea Clarkberg Two paths diverged beneath my feet— One paved, and one muddy, off the beat. I left the cars and bustling street To find a stream, a would-be retreat. Its waters were choked with plastic and waste, Ignored by those who walked on in haste. Among the muck, an egret white Stood still, a fragile, ghostly sight. It flew away as I drew near, Its instinct sharp, its path so clear. What was that sickly sweetness in the air? The stench of death was everywhere. I saw ahead a wolf or dog, hard to tell, Its teeth gleaming white in a sunken shell. I passed it by and did not stay, But the path just stopped and fell away. Some draft of a park the city had planned— Now swallowed up by brambled land. I stood where trail met thorn and stone, Staring at trash the world disowned. The highway thundered just overhead, While the water below ran thick and dead. Oh world, I cried, what have we done? We’ve scorched the soil and blocked the sun. We pass each other, m...

Nice post!
ReplyDeleteWhen you say that 'there must be some point, or the teacher wouldn't assign it' I don't think that in life there is an actual 'teacher' who decides what the 'point' is. I believe that you are the only one who decides what the point of your life is, no one else. You can either neglect to make your life fulfilling with a point or not, that's up to you, but you can definitely have a *point* in life.