Fallen trees are like fallen dragons

The acorn like an egg sets free the will to grow,
And they uncurl their branching wings,
Spreading wide, fulfilling their being a moment at a time.
They inhabit the deep yet reach for the light up high,
And bark-like scales are gleaming armour
To guard the great spirit of wisdom within.

But then one night the earth is so relaxed, the skies so wilful
That in the midst of dark they bow their crown and slowly,
Bending downwards with a sigh, the great beasts fall
Making the grounds tremble when with a crash
The creatures, accepting, let go of all strife.

When morning comes wearily, grey and burdened,
The rain finds the limbs splayed like bones splintered,
And the drops running down the creatures’ arched back
Are like tears mourning a greater destiny that
Has so found its end.

©jsmorgane (Feb 2014)

Peeta: to the Capitol

Scared, I’m scared.
So scared I cry and
Do not care the world
Is witness to my tears.

She. Sterner than usual, perhaps.
No tears, of course, no signs of weakness.
As if she’d always planned to take
Her sister’s place and make the battle hers.
Protecting her own like the shy creature of the forest
She has always seemed to me,
Fierce in defence. Invincible.

Now they are trying to take her down.
Take her out. The girl who sang.
Sang a song so clear and true
Only a mountain might crush that voice.
But the rocks did fall, and heavily,
On her family’s life, burying her smile
With her father deep down underground.

She keeps to herself, self-contained,
Thoughts turned inside, saving her strength
For… later, while I go to pieces because
I don’t stand a chance to win this thing.
But she can win. Her instincts sharpened by
Solitude, she’ll make it through, she knows
The wilderness on the forbidden side of the fence,
And – I think – the other kind as well.

No, I will not go down quietly.
I’ll help as best I can,
I’ll help her win.
She will not notice –
She’s never noticed me.
I’ll give her the last of
What I have of time
To lengthen hers.
For her I could be strong,
I might for her,
I will for her.

I’ll step in where she …
Has never needed to excel.
Where I can speak for her,
Can smile for her,
Give what is good in me
For her and maybe
She’ll forgive me then.
Forgive my fear, forgive the
Bread thrown in the mud,
When I might easily have
Stepped out in the rain and
Handed it to her.

I hand her now what little
I have left of my replaceable existence.
She’ll notice too late – I count on that –
That I’m the prey who seeks her out,
Comes willingly into her range,
And so fulfils its purpose.

© jsmorgane (April 2012)