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POEM: The Truth Behind Trees

The Truth Behind Trees

By Tom Dearden

I look through the trees of

The forest below me.

As the fog descends, enclosing me like

An insignificant letter in a foreign envelope,

I hear his muted voice.

The frosted glass image of my dad

Moves frame by frame into focus,

Trapped in a condensation bubble in my temple,

Like unwanted mucus.

I try to breathe; I try to run free,

I always cry like the wind through my trees.

The decrepit smiles of the oaks

Imprint on my forehead, like a fingerprint –

A giveaway to my irrelevant human identity,

Telling me who I am, and what I should be.

If I could live in the trees or just be free

From constraints, relationships and even me.

If I could see my dad for one last time,

I’d show him who I could never be.

For fear of failure and loneliness too,

I walk through my forest in search of the truth.

To answers that nobody really knows

Why are we here?

Who sold you the blow?

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