I ask why things continue in what they’ve always done.
I ask the fragrant roses why they tempt their victims then prick them with thorns.
I ask the sun if it feels remorse when, in its anger, burns the very thing it sustained.
I ask the forest’s fallen tree why it screams when it never makes a sound.
I ask the stars why they are so cautious and careful, only to give up everything when they die.
I ask the wind why one of the mightiest forces in the world is so insecure it remains invisible.
And they whisper back, “Why…”
Silenced, I finally respond,
“Because we’re not all that different.”
Prose
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My favorite line: “I ask the forest’s fallen tree why it screams when it never makes a sound.” It kind of reminds me of when I was learning about Foucault’s painting and essay, both called “This Is Not A Pipe” in my junior year of college. A fun time for me, indeed!
Excellent job on this poem. It is very reflective in nature, as it speaks to how, as part of human nature, we have a certain need to search for things to shift the blame to when things start to go awry, when in fact we may have brought all of this on ourselves through our own actions.
LOVE. LOVE. LOVE.