Do you still see it?
The tree in the darkness?
I don’t see it.
Not clearly.
Not like I used to.
The tree in the darkness?
I don’t see it.
Not clearly.
Not like I used to.
Sweet scent of apple blossom in the night.
Fractured touch of bark under hand.
Listen closely, you can hear the leaves.
Even closer, the oars against the waves.
The tall island.
Jetting out of inky nightmare.
The stairs that wrapped around it.
The plateau where you would all meet.
Do you still see them?
The masked faces of freedom?
I can see them.
Not clearly.
Not like I used to.