Drunk. 2.19

This scanty, weathered old cherry tree stands unaccompanied; baron, amongst a forest of ghosts. It Peers timidly alone and crestfallen, into a decimated landscape of loss and sorrow. It was said by those that saw the tree grow and blossom into the luminous spectacle it once was, that Da Vinci himself would willingly breathed his last breath just to touch the canvas of those beautiful blossoming leaves that radiated lively and so vibrant. The good times when a true exquisite pallet of everything beautiful rested upon this once majestic portrait that stood so tall and strong have long passed leaving the lone thin stick jutting awkwardly toward an ominous moon.

When the cherry blossomed it had a luminous forest filled with light and promise. The radiance of the tree was marvelously displayed and celebrated deep down in its roots. After time that beautiful blossoming tree felt its root drying and flaking, leaves began to rain like bombs from a blackened sickly sky. Those ever so trusted and connected leaves fell one by one losing contact, losing connection drifting and evaporating into this polluted soil only to germinate to another doomed forest. Upon when they shall fall again.

It’s told that tree still stands today, though the leaves germinate feigned and lifeless turning black and falling fast. The tree now withering and dropping bark in pounds stands scarce casting its meager shadow onto a field of nothingness.

There are times that this old piece of wood jutting from the decrepit terra firma is watered and hope is pumped to its roots. Those rare fleeting moments pass and fade like the leaves that used to breath the real life into that frail old cherry tree.