MIST by Mide Benedict

I saw a tree

                                                                I saw it well

I saw how bees came to suck

Its nectars

The leaves were green,

Its root was dry

Yet its fruits were fresh

And transparent too

So in them I saw plum dreams,

Beautiful and fresh.

When the wind came by

It blew its leaves

Shook its plum fruits

And dropped them to the soil.

The fruits began to grow

Into young plants.

These plants grew with dreams of freedom

But it came, the tree I first saw

Unrooting the roots of these new trees with dry roots

Soon freedom became free doom

Peace tore to pieces

Growth groaned and

Joy became the thing unwanted.

Thoughts then came to me in loud voices

                  Life of culture; unstructured structure

                  Life of culture; unwanted freedom.

Why become the life that gives death?

The sweetness that secretes bitter sap?

The herb that poisons its healing strength!