The Oak Tree
By Natgo7
The oak tree stood in silence, as all trees like to do.
Just waiting for a child, whose eyes see something new.
With all the limbs to climb on, he wants to choose just one,
To sit and read his little books, or maybe have some fun.
He chooses one that looks just right, that seems the best to him,
And climbs upon the limb and sits, to take the scenery in.
This branch is not too high, he thinks, not too high for me,
But not too low that I can't see the pretty view I see.
Reaching in his pocket, he retrieves his carving knife.
It was Swiss Army his daddy gave, that should last for life.
Flicking up the shiny blade, he carves in his own name.
Now this limb belongs to me, he thought, without a shame.
Alighting from the branch, a smile on his face,
The little boy skipped down the path, which led to his home base.
He told his mom about the tree, he told his daddy too,
And even told his favorite friend, "There's room up there for you."
So every day he did return, to see his favorite tree,
To climb, to play, to swing, and hang, but never scrape his knee.
All of the boy's buddies, hadn't known about that branch,
But one girl he had liked to play with took a second glance.
"Does that say your name?" she asked. "Did you carve it there?"
"Yes it does and you can't touch, plus you can't sit there."
She asked why not, and he replied, "Because it's my own spot."
But when she wanted to have her own, he told her she could not.
She slowly walked away from him, her tears wetting her face.
He just sat upon his limb, not even feeling his disgrace.
A dusty gust of wind blew by, and shook the branch on which he sat.
Getting up from his dangerous spot, he moved the leaves off of his lap.
But unnoticed were his laces, which hung from his blue shoes,
And causing him to slip and fall, to lose the life he knew.
Falling to his death, from the spot he thought as not too high,
The little boy saw his whole life, flash before his eyes.
The loving face of his own mom, and the sound of daddy's voice,
The faces of kids that he once knew, which now would make no noise.
Every Christmas, every birthday, every present that he got,
Meant no more at all to him, than the life he loved a lot.
Everything went black to him, he no longer was afraid.
Of heights and snakes and sharks that bite, the way he felt was great.
Among the souls of others, he saw a big oak tree,
The one he would have loved to climb, the one he climbed with glee.
He whispered to himself this time, "I won't keep it for me,
I won't want to play by myself, or pretend to do good deeds.
I love you mom, if you can hear, and daddy knows as well,
That I would have ended up in heaven, and never down in hell.
I wish I could have said goodbye, to all my family there.
And those of you, who linger here, can too smell friendship in the air.
I'll be fine in my own space, but in the end I'll see you here.
And when you come, I will make sure, you sign my tree- no fear."
-Natalie Mammone
(
geocities.com/poetrypillow)