Poem

The Decision Tree

Photo by Lahiru Supunchandra on Unsplash

I hang my wishes
on cords of string
fluttering from bare branches
like cellophane.

So much desire
So many needs. . .

Which will sustain me
for an hour, a day, a century?

So I start again.

I hang my goals instead.
Let my past decide
which ones to bury
which ones reside
in a breast or pants pocket
or tossed to the desk in unrequited rest.

The hardest truth to learn
is pruning works best in winter.

Bare branches
ignore scent or flowers
Spring time abundance occludes my view.

So my thoughts —
Those false starts
and early drafts
stand stark in my editor eye.

Let portents of wind or rain
shake the weak & vain
so only the strong remain.

Blunt & thickened
those thoughts may be.
Yet they embody
the essence of me.