There the willow stood, unmoving,
Its hollow trunk soiled and leaves blackening,
No wind teases it, its shriveled and dry
Branches drove away all that passed by.
There is nothing profound about it
Save the silence around it
Its craving for hope and light, lost,
In its curdling roots and compost
Save the sorrowful song it sings
My very core, center and hinges
There is no more love, and no more resentment
No more room left for sentiment
Empty ; Just the biting numbness
An estranged, merciless caress.
In shock I shriveled, ashamed,
Blind and deaf to the call of my name
For my name I am not, and I, neither,
On the threshold of madness did I teeter
For the doors are closed, and the world unwelcome,
And nothing makes sense in this cold-blooded anthem.