O! helpless helper
Scream me less, lest I fall as the loud fall of water falls,
My tale isn’t a traveler’s story, but glory to wear upon,
Painted after the likehood of points,
I shall discuss in a long note but short time,
Let me imprint afront, this is not a song,
I shall not sing as the owl would hoot althrough the stillness of the dark until the night sleeps,
and though I began with an “O”
Wrap not your arms and bound not thyself to pity meeting.
Clear thy ears and concert thy hearing to my tuneless story, for I shall tell this tale in the manner of her nature,
from the onset when the sun set out of her bed,
until then when the owls began their song.
I have been a bellyless oak tree, feeding from the crumbs of grace scattered on the earth, nature’s gift,
barely full but I share my bestowing with the grass of my root, weeding none in discrimination,
green or brown, flower or wild, blooms or spikes.
Shall I speak?
my heart is a serene fotress, a poet will merrily bless, pouring upon the artistry of words like garlands of honor,
With little to eat, have I not grown fit?
Unless deem not by beings forlorn and blind,
Time away but memories aware, my album affirm photos of myself,
a giver of refuge to the distress, shading shawdows
around mother earth from the beginning of time,
keeping souls in the gathering of gracious darkness
An umbrage over their heads,
Hiding them under my groves,
beneath the sweet evening of my under belly, meddle in the cheerfulness of breeze,
Allowing only flashes of sunlight a drive exit,
peeping through the cracks of my wavering leaves like rich limbs of glorious blooms, pointed to the agglomerate of high heavens.
Upon my desire I kept them away from the tortures of scorching sun shine, allowing only a thin beaming stretch but not to catch.
Ask not wherefore? , but here conversing as I may but in earnest confession, deeds I still do till date, all this I did beholding the sky.
My thick roofs has been for years unknown to man a nest for the desplaced to fly about, as little birds they flew about, my mercy embrace them inside like a little child,
Every night the wolves gather beneath me in packs, tearing greedily into their stolen food,
the same spot hunters builds their tent,
I could still see clearly trickling smoke from where the last hunter made his camp fire with the branch of my limbs,
The pack of beast feast and growl at each enviously as though disastified with the share.
my limbs stalked and unmovably clamp, as I remain calm tending to my wounds,
Laughing scornfully at natures trick.
The day as always was blameless and impeccably calm except for the chirping of tiny wood birds,
The glory of the evening spread through the cheerfulness of the wind as she dance gloriously about,
Fresh became the sigh of breath,
with and without intent but convicted to my fate,
I joined graciously to merry and worship,
The shrill howl that precedes rang loud disrupting
the still season of merriment,
Then the disturbance from afar, wobbling runs towards the direction of my stay,
The hungry opressor chasing his helpless prey,
the later wobble out of the thick colossal, grieviously with a thousand sharp punctures of cold-sweating pain,
terror leap in his heart and his life-blood dried up in fear,
O! “Poor victim!
What is his crime? Is crime is not an intent, but fate is the chain that links him to his death.
Now they unfold from the deep, a clear view grew
the lion and the monkey, the fleeing prey,
his black matted head on his shoulder is bent and his eyes potrays his near fleeing spirit,
Amidst threat and roar, caught almost a thousand times with sharp jabs of claws,
High spirited, fending off blows, he wobbled to my feet,
Sighting him in a more terrible image, the pain of my spirit grew, I wished I could shape fate,
I was glad I could help, my conscience appease as he climbed to the top of my head a dwelling so fair.
~ Smile Austin