Growing Forest

He was a forest

More than he was a man.

He had vines in his arms,

And roots in his hands.

I tore his wilderness

Tore it limb from limb

And I demolished the passion

That was housed in him.

I do not mean to cry,

For what I’ve done can’t be forgot.

I only wish to remember him,

For all that I am not.

He was the plant in the dirt

That I refused to see

But now I’ll plant another tree,

And hope he grows free.

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