The Oak Tree

A glorious morning it was that day,
Filled with the smell of jasmine flowers
Emanating from that sordid room.
Sordid indeed it was, my room,
The closet from whence it came.
The smell traced a path across the garden
To a whole new world,
On the other side.

A world of fantasy,
A world contrasted to mine,
Where birds sang chirpily,
Flying in some delight upon finding game.
But for all it was,
The fantasy bore a single tree.
A huge oak right in the middle of my flower-sheltered field.
It was but huge,
Almost grazing the ceiling of the sky.
But what it was I loved the most was the world it carried inside .

A long lost closet I left behind,
Followed the path of my nose,
Leading the way to my new world,
For me to cherish and grow sublimed into.
To engross myself in its never-ending arms,
Away from all the rottened webs,
Away from all the turmoil that reddened my bleeding heart,
To embrace me into its firm arms.

I climbed and climbed trying to reach the top,
Bounded my slow lightening heart.
Its burdened state was pulling me down to the bottom,
But not too late to sail aloft.
The tree never seemed to end,
The day carried on till night came,
But I could not retire,
Till all the agony left my mind.

I tripped and caught on to one of your arms,
But lifted myself with no help.
You stand there tall, with might and pride,
But of no avail from your hollow inside.
Must I climb this trenched path,
Though arms are strong, they twist in vain.

Will I remember the days of clear conscience,
Even in a dark closet,
If I live in this confused clarity?

No matter the indulgence I have in you,
My tree, you cannot save me.
You cannot save me from all the rottened webs still hanging loose,
Targeted by strong winds of repurcussioning ponders.

Oh conscience!
My fight is but alone,
For even through despair and heart-break,
My salvation is through the other end of my closet,
The end that leads one to reality.