Oaks: The Storm...

                     Oaks: The Storm

The grand ole oak guarded the road to the land,
Oh, what beauty of land but it cried for a family,
No one heard, for no one listens to land and God.

The live oak remembered memories of a hundred
Years and more, no homes, no families except of
The roaming cows and goats, calm pasture land.

It saw the rising of white oaks here and there
Near the land of the lane, from acorns to towering
Giants of the strongest wood, land their strength.

Land their weakness with each inch of growth to
To the sky, roots wide in ground soft dirt, worms,
Yet the giants pounded their chests to the storm.

Wise old live oak wept at their pride for he knew
The power of the winds, of God’s might, prayed
Did he for the home and those within, his friends.

The man who saw his veins of spirit of the Lord,
The little girl who listened to the man, especially
For grandma and grandpa, two concrete guards.

Other people of the world in the home, having
None of bad wishes, none of his thoughts at all
Except humanity and kindness all of living life.

The clouds grew darker and the winds barked
Louder and louder with their hot breath, with
The ferocity of the challenge of who stronger.

The pride of knocking over all in their path, of
The evil fun of destroying and crashing things,
The winds really had no care just having fun.

The eye of the storm saw the oaks from a short
Distance and wished them well, the arrogant of
The winds so vile, then he saw man and child.

Both shaking with fear, both wishing they were
Together, but life separated them, the future too
Will, eyes of storms can see, magic crystal balls.

Tears the storm eye cried for the two God’s one.
He saw the future, he wept more, so close came
The meaning of life to the man, she will be gone.

Back to the oaks and wildness of the winds, the
Chests of the oaks bellowed not anymore, down
A few told the others cower and beg for mercy.

As were the man and child, but to God no winds,
Prayers pretty good for no one hurt, damage as
One would expect but not, little this, little that.

The worst to come weeks after the storm with
Tears for the oaks still flowing, another story for
Another day, here old oak cried for his friends.

The man alone again with the lost of a friend,
Child had the blood of ancestors now less with
The lost, world turns ‘round day after day but.

But, new paths to come, the bearded oak limbs
Broken and torn needing renewal and hope of
A real family, the man cannot be, child in need.

Her growth and the growth of the man cannot
Be one together, eye of the storm saw parting,
Crystal balls sometimes lie, the future will tell.

Memories of once before, against a door’s wire
Screen, she cried and cried for him, after work,
Home he, today, return won’t never be, a gift.

A gift to the child for her need of family, a gift
To the Spanish moss, the clothes of the oak,
A gift to others, they may be the land’s family.

– Steven Louis Ernest