poetry – Page 7

The Olive Tree

The olive tree cries
Blood-stained roots long for water
alone in her death
Once the dwelling place of God
now turning to dust and death

the calming darkness
a vigil to the moon, night
rebelling the day

A tangerine in a suit.
Waddling towards the finish line with a desire for greatness.

A lover of the dictators.
Praising tyranny, hurting the nation’s people, and killing culture.

A nod to faux imperialism.
Redecorating the great home with tacky gold-plated idiocy.

A desire for other lands.
Ready to build on the blood and the bones of the many dead.

shrouded in the dark
beyond this life I venture
ascending stone steps
a yearning for this stone place
the familiarity

the brooding cloud sky
an awakening within
the familiar walls
no longer myself walking
words of a spell I don’t know

The settled forest
tanks rolling in the distance
the destructive sounds
Birds take flight, and creatures flee
The trees don’t flinch as they die

The sparkle of the sunlit day, and your mane creating shapes in the wind.

Nose to nose, the carrot becomes a source of curiosity and frustration.

I never wanted to take your reins without your approval, so you neighed ‘yes’.

Still, the carrot is between us.

A pixie haircut
glowing skin and smiling eyes
pictures of what was

Now, afraid to speak
imprisoned from head to toe
the theocracy

The colours vanished
Mum’s smile now pale beige horror
of the living dead