ligna arbolis

sometimes i think
what if i had
a magic wand
carved from the finest wood

a wand that could transform
judgement into good

but before i took aim
at anyone else
i would turn this wand
upon myself

but where to find
such sacred wood
to make a wand
to turn bad to good

would it be close or very far
from the negative neighborhood

so on a journey
i embarked
into the forest wondering
if the trail was marked

from the first tree
i encountered
a crow cried out
and mocked my aimless wander

i tripped upon a root
and fell into a bramble
perhaps the crow was right
decrying this pointless ramble

a wren appeared
upon a shrub
and flitted to the west
i limped from the toe i’d stubbed

i came upon a clearing
lush with a secret garden
bees spoke to me of honey
’til all was glowing nectar

yet then the forest breeze
whispered in my ears
i realized this was not the potion
to dissolve the judging fears

so off again i set
from where i’d come to rest
to leave this sacred garden
the bees within their nest

from negative to positive
swung my pendulum
but then everything repulsive
attracted me back to glum

deeper still i delved
into the forest dark
or perhaps after such light
i couldn’t see the lark

he flew into my forehead
and thus began to squawk
i must watch where i’m going
before i blindly walk

my apology accepted
i set back upon my way
into the wood of grayness
where everything would sway

herein i found the balance
between the bad and good
how to walk the middle way
within the neutral hood

again the forest breeze
whispered in my ears
i must return back home
releasing all my fears

and back within the world
with messages of bees and breeze
instilled within my heart
i speak the secret that i need

i need no wand of magic
the wood grows in my heart
to cast the spell upon myself
is where i’ll always start

all colors of light
added make white
all pigments of ink
combined yield black

between the two extremes
lay the middle way
with every person and situation
in all there’s always gray

when i listen to
the inner voice
of crow and wren and lark
their chorus sings of choice

bees buzzing in my head’s hive
the monkey swings within the trees
all voices combine to be alive
their chorus whispered on the breeze

now when ripples on the pond
disturb the forest’s peace
i sing neutral sacred grayness
turning people into trees

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About Brad Werner

Technical Evangelist
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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