I See the Fruit Upon the Tree

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Growing up was hard,
bitter winds bent me sideways,
sometimes I worry that I am
crooked formed,
grown against my grain
in petrified pattern.

Warmer winds did
rock me too,
leeward and lulled,
but they seemed
more infrequent,
sweet rare zephyrs.

This fruit rolled
far from the tree,
seeking life’s meaning,
love’s dreaming,
a home for my heart.

Often the braille
within my brain
kept me stuck in
tourettic stutters,
tattooed messages
beating time to
old tunes
of nihility.

I tried to erase them
with affirmation,
visualisation,
inebriation,
carnal consolation.

I ran away
and joined the circus,
that crazy travelling
carnival of the New Age.

I looked for myself
everywhere else.

Fellow troopers danced
with me
for awhile,
we swayed to the beat
of many a piper’s
hypnotic voice,
and came away lighter
in pocket only,
dragging our ballast
to next sales pitch.

Now come full circle
I find myself
at bottom branches
of family tree,
that great outcrop
that shades and shields,
and shakes us crashing
to meet hard ground.

As prodigal pilgrim,
I spy high fruits
glistening ripe,
Sacrifice, Hope,
Tenderness hidden,
Affection forgotten
by rebellious memory,
a Tough Love that
seasoned me for life
beyond canopy.

Now I see the
tears, the fears,
the weariness of care,
the struggles of a sapling
to bear life’s promise.
The mark of ringbark
revealing hardship’s grip.

I harvest with gratitude,
place this new feast
into heart sack,
and carry it back
upon the road
to feed my future.

Written for the AllPoetry comp – Braille Within my Brain, with prompt – what was rejected/kept from childhood.

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