In the park near my home there is a young tree

On it are dozens of sets of initials etched into its trunk

The manifestations of summer loves pining to grasp the eternal

In the life of the cold bark


The life of this tree will undoubtedly surpass the loves inscribed upon it

The oldest inscriptions already worn and withered with age

The desperate clambering of ephemera for the grace of timelessness

A communion with that transcendent glory of eternity


After a hundred summers past and flames grown cold

That they might live on

Ascending from the ephemeral on that cold bark

Riding into eternity


In the distance sits the timeless stone of the mountain peak

He has watched the tides of the forests ebb and flow

Innumerable little trees born and dying

The timeless ebb and flow of ephemera at his ancient feet

He has watched men etching their ephemera upon ephemera

Vain attempts to kiss the timeless


And in the cold blue of the night sky the cold silvery moon watches the young mountain’s watching






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