Trees In A Back Garden Poem by Stayin Song

The seasons and
Weather-
Volatile deviants-
Are raw human.
They wear no veil,
They bear no mask.
Like a brushstroke
Of hue and wonder,
Their disposition
Can change on a whim.
They spangle themselves
With the beauty
Of stars, clouds
And other such brilliance.
They look in themselves
For beauty-
They realize that the external
Decors are harmful
And destructive
And misleading.
It ruins the nature of things;
The nature of things is ruined
When the nature of things
Is taken for granted.

Before discretion
Is learned, we
Are raw human.
Humans never grow up
To be humans
In nature,
Only in appearance-
Nowadays humans hardly
Look human anymore.
There's nothing more human
Than prose,
And verse,
And song,
And melody,
And true, honest
Expression of emotion.
We're poems of
Feigned emotions
And veiled honesty
And shambled verses.
Each rhyme is off its kilter.
We're novels
That others have plunged into
And tore the very essence out.
We're songs of nullified melody,
Paintings of run-of-the-mill hues
And quick-to-fade paints.

Eventually we
All become
Like trees
In a back
Garden-trimmed
And shaped to fit
In, not blossoming
And showing our
True shape and
Volume as we
Would without
Inhibition.


(By Josh Rodriguez)