Some people I know
Are afraid of everything,
And there are those others
Who are even afraid of the trees outside
Besides,
Even I could have been one of those trees
Afraid of you as you are of me
Hunched over, and
Weighed down by wet snow and freezing rain
Too paralyzed with fright to cry out for help,
Or even to shrug off that snow that, so heavily
Holds me firmly in place-
But with trepidation and with utmost with fear
I stand,
As dusk approaches,
The sun is setting and the sky is steel-hued-
And somewhere behind the clouds
I am wondering what color the sun is on this eve,
Obliterated and overshadowed by
That late-day fog that hovers
Lowly in the sky –
At this moment I finally remember
Why I am here,
Why I live in so much pain and
Even why I cannot weep-
I suppose
Only the weeping willow trees are allowed to weep,
For they did not grow in my mother’s yard,
And my mother never let me cry-
Only maple trees grew there, and have
Always were expected to stand proudly and with ardent strength,
Shedding leaves only in the fall,
Although no tears-
I wished at one time I were one of those weeping willow trees-
I could cry that pain away,
And be a happier tree, than a maple tree that
Appears stalwart and firmly planted, although-
Encased within its swarthy, rugged bark, it is weeping tears of
Destitute loneliness,
If a winter’s squall were to approach,
Wouldn’t it be the maple tree that would be
Fallen by the wind – not that weeping willow tree
That would never anyways be found in my back yard.
I do believe now that my mother is no longer here
That if I were to venture into her yard, or even mine
A maple tree I would rather see or be
Shedding colors of different hues in the autumn,
It’s branches beautifully covered with freshly fallen snow in the wintertime, and
At the rite of spring delicate new foliage would begin to grow,
In the summer I would dance under the sun all day and
Bathe in the deluge of rain as it falls from lead- hued thunderclouds.
These maple trees could be you or me,
Though always fearful,
And in inner turmoil so much of the time,
As one leaf falls after another from our branches,
We shall soon stand stark and proudly-
Silhouettes against the rising, full moon every night,
And awaken barren, our trunks copper
Beneath the rising of the sun.
When we die we shall be used of firewood, to burn and warm
The hearts of people everywhere, and
Isn’t that what life is truly all about ,
Rather than all of these ideations of
Fear, pain and crying,
And wishing to be something you can never be?
I can be none but that maple tree,
Look outside you window and you wall see me
Growing in your own back yard,
All I wish to do is to give you shade,
And if you are not afraid of me,-
I will have no reason to be afraid of you.

(schizoclaud)
Claudia Krizay