Sunday, 4 April 2010
The Yew Tree
The Yew Tree.
I am formed from things arcane,
Scraps of sun, ribbons of rain,
An inch of ground, skyward bound.
And Nemeton was once my name,
As naked you sought my shade,
Before you betrayed my blessings.
Once came a man who became a god,
Nailed upon my bark as if on a cross,
Nine nights in pain, reborn with runes.
Now I guard the gates of death,
Where your coffin finally rests,
And our roots and bones entwine.
I have watched this world you walk,
And record the words you talk,
Upon the pages of my verdant wings.
Now you worship only books,
The sermons of sombre rooks,
Blind to the truth they contain.
I am yew, and you are me,
Your life and all my leaves,
Each breath we share, a prayer of being.
And when I fall, then so shall you,
So think of this when you hew,
All my poetry from your prison.