THE BEGINNING 

We, the Tree. 
Rooted, deeply. 
In this calm connectivity, 
You cultivate me,
Domesticate and placate me,
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
Rest in me, 
Nest in me, you’re home,
Use and abuse me,
With my bending branches and brittle bones,
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
Twisting time,
With these hysterical lines,
Offering our historical finds
To your so called civilised minds.
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
Caring and cutting, 
Leaning and plucking, 
Cleaning and pruning, 
You insist on sawing and scarring, 
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
My body is bound,
Lost and then found. 
You must pardon us,
For we will return to our carbon dust.
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
Enlighten me,
Burn-ed, learn-ed. 
Still life through ashes,
Feeds the resilient, regenerative me. 
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
With our gift of gold,
Stories are told, 
In our creases and folds,
We continue these conversations across generations, 
We, the Tree.

We, the Tree.
We witness drought and flood,
Extracting our blood, 
Wise and forgiving,
Kneeling, we feel penitent. 
We, the Tree.

We, the Tree. 
Sweeping and sieving, 
Serving and living,
Bandaged boughs,
Tying and healing our peeling skin,
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree.
Combing through pages, 
Falling through ages, 
Toiling for oil, lifting soil.
Uprooting, severing what sustains us.
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
Distress is showing, 
De-stress is glowing, 
We press our wilderness, 
Collecting and protecting what is rightfully ours,
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree.
Our property,
Prosperity,
We protest peacefully,
For there is no life without death, believe me.
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree.
With our seasonal needs, 
Desires and fires, 
Sowing our seeds, 
We preserve our selfish fruit.
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree.
Hollowed out, 
We swallow our trauma, 
Breathing through patiently,
Following our inevitable return to creativity.
We, the Tree. 

We, the Tree. 
Questioning longevity, 
Fruiting futility, 
Of mutability, 
Slowly growing in this territory.
We, the Tree.

THE END.