mold

i must have been mold

in some odd, past life.

one must have left me behind

to be forgotten, to grow old.

you must have been a tree

in some odd, past life.

as your branches twist and wind,

they leave you alone to be free.

you reached for the sky, for the sun, for the clouds.

from them, you yearned for a kindness that was warm.

but they only ever rained down on you in a heavy storm.

they broke you down with this, and you drowned.

with the gust of a mean wind,

your branches shake and twist and bend.

your long life comes to a halting end.

trunks fall to the ground with heavy limbs.

we were never meant to stay alive.

so when you finally passed,

you decayed quite fast.

the only thing left for you was rot when you died.

sit there and allow yourself to decompose.

let the world around you start to eat.

your fragile shell lay there in the heat,

and it was then that the mold rose.

a dead log became alive once again,

covered with moss and bugs and fungus.

there they all lived, together in their oneness.

loneliness became desired, then.

your rot was my home.

you let go of everything, then found me.

but in you i found everything, you see.

i lived in your bones.

but your bones were not strong.

the mold pushed through, forced cracks in the log.

it broke you apart, this unkind rot.

though, i never meant to do you any wrong.

so, dead tree, for what i have done,

forgive me, for it is all i have ever known.

you were truly my only kind home.

but it was you who i broke, and now you are no one.

stay good.