Once I was the oak upon the hill, strong and resolute. As the winds came, I sheltered the sheep beneath my boughs, and with a low grumble stood still against the storm.
And a leaf fell. And a twig snapped. And a branch fell. And my trunk cracked and I tumbled.
And so I thought, I must not be an oak – I pretended to be a palm. I learned to bend, to twist, to turn. In light winds the sheep still sheltered, but in the storms I yelled, “run you fools run!” Alone before the tempest I would dance, swing wildly, toss my body, my mind, my soul against the ground and air, and yell “I can withstand! I can withstand!”
And a fruit fell. And a frond snapped. And a branch fell. And my trunk cracked and I tumbled.
And now? From an acorn I grow anew, but I grow amongst the palms, the sycamores and the ashes. The willows weep around me. The holly bushes snare lovers ‘neath their thorns. Our roots mix and our seeds mingle as the sheep graze beneath the canopy. So when the storms come my oakish torso will take my share as we raise our leaves to the heavens.
And the fruit shall grow. And the leaves shall wave. And the branches will soar As our trunks worship the forest for our trees.
If I can make it to now Things will be all right. If I can focus on here Not those things that might.
If I can make it to now, Things will be all right, Even if horror Is clearly my plight.
If I can leave behind yesterday Let past times be past. If I can forget what must come, No matter how fast.
If I can make it to now And feel sadness inside. If I can just let my grief Be kind future’s guide.
If I can just make it here, If I can just hold on now, If I can just reach my hand out, I’ll find arms that allow A holding of comfort Where tears can run long, And when sewers are washed clean, Keep hold firm and strong.
If I can make it to now, And let go of escape, The grey fog of sorrow Shall slowly undrape, And valleys of flowers Fed strong by the dew Will await present me To finally break through.