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No. 7 Meet me at the tree

A poem by me

By Alan JohnPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
2
The Wilder Land

There's a boy in the backyard making faces at the sky

Dreaming of the day he'll finally fly

And though he has no wings he can still do anything

But he doesn't know if it's a lie

Meet me at the tree

Where rivers flow from the mercy seat

The things that we have built

Pain and progress

Joy and guilt

They fade

There's a man with a problem written on his face

He never saw it coming; his fatal fall from grace

Water far below and yet somehow he still knows

Life is still worth living for

There's a girl in the corner crying out her eyes

All the love that she had hoped in turned out to be lies

The day is growing cold and she has no one to hold

All she wants to know is why

Cause the sun is always rising around this ball of dust

And though happiness is fleeting there's joy that cannot rust

So just keep going one more day

I promise you it all will melt away

Meet me at the tree

Where rivers flow from the mercy seat

The things that we have built

Pain and progress

Joy and guilt

They fade

Oh meet me at the tree

Meet me at the tree

Please?

surreal poetry
2

About the Creator

Alan John

I'm a Virginia based writer/musician looking to find my place in this wild wild world.

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