Major changes ahead? An old pine tree, bleeding sap, just might hold some answers. |
With Softer Eyes Is it the journey I fear or what awaits; the leaving I fear or what I must leave behind? Is it the changes to come or fear of nothing changing at all? Am I praying for peace, or just hoping the war will stop? These fears rest heavy like a stone, not far away from my beating heart. The echo, a cadence that guides my walk. Tears yearn to join the pond before me. I let them while I questioned my purpose here. What did I think I would achieve in this place, staring at trees, emptying my eyes of fear, when what I feared is waiting back at home? I relaxed my eyes, let things blur a bit, and that is when I saw with softer eyes the green of the boughs, the wounds of the pine. Battle scarred and crying sap, the roots into the water tapped. Its branches held a wealth of life, its roots forever anchored tight. The green stretched upward to the sky shielding the earth from the burning light. And I was awed at this new sight, my eyes cleansed from fear. I walked with courage up the path, looking back once more, and there I saw the stone I lugged beside my heart, lying there beneath the pine. A sheltered place to sit for someone just like me, now that I have gone. You see, I have heard the echo sound, and once it was a fearful sound, but now it calls me home again, to challenges not so severe as lightning striking pine. But still, if I intend to thrive, I must not fail to nourish my roots once in a while. And I’ll weep sometimes, just like the old and fruitful pine. I’ll stretch my arms lik branches ‘til they shield my children and other’s still. And when some lonely soul comes near, I’ll not hide from my deepest fears. I’ll lay them bare beside the stone. It could be the one you’re sitting on. Newest version above With Softer Eyes Is it the journey I fear or what awaits; the leaving I fear or what I must leave behind? Is it the changes to come or fear of nothing changing at all? Am I praying for peace, or just hoping the war will stop? These fears rest heavy like a stone, not far away from my beating heart. The echo, a cadence that guides my walk. Tears from my eyes yearn to join the pond before me, so I let them while I questioned my purpose here. What did I think I would achieve, coming here, to stare at trees, to empty my eyes of fear, when what I feared the most was waiting at the end of my path? Tired, I relaxed my eyes, let things blur a bit, and that is when I saw with softer eyes the green of the boughs, the wounds of the pine. Battle scarred and crying sap, the roots into the water tapped. Its branches held a wealth of life, its roots forever anchored tight. The green stretched upward to the sky and shielded the earth from the burning light. And I was awed at this new sight, my eyes, now cleansed from fear. I walked with courage up the path, looking back once more, and there I saw the stone I carried beside my heart, lying there beneath the tree, a place to sit for someone like me. But I have heard that echo sound, and once it was a fearful sound, but now it calls me home again, to challenges no so severe as lightning through the pine. But if I am to make it through, I must be sure to nourish roots, to be unafraid to weep sometimes, just like the old and fruitful pine. I must stretch out my branches ‘til they shield my children and other’s still. And when some lonely one comes near, I’ll not hide from my deepest fears, I’ll lay them bare beside the stone. It could be the one you’re sitting on. |