THE OLD TREE

The old tree cries
But softly
Its branches hang
So low.
Paralysed
Down one side
A lightning strike
From long ago.

Soon its wood
Will yellow pages lay
Upon a future desk
A poet at play
Words in line
Writings crime
A veil upon
Existence.

Each shadow now
In twilight cast
Lovers whispers
Future and past
Shall rest their heads
In swaying stars
A cradle for
A blood red Mars.

Marble warrior lay down 
Your shield and sword
Its pointed blade
Razor sharp
For love is in
Creaking bark
The old tree cries
But softly.