The Family Tree
Dear Branches,
Gnarled and twisted.
Dear leavess,
Brown and rotting,
We give thanks to thee,
Dear tree
For through thee
Our family lives vicariously.
Though dead and gone,
Ashen faces we still see
In thy tightly twisting Knots of Chlorophyll and root
For their bodies were burned away
And scattered at thy foot.
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Typewriterwriter
I don't write about death because I want to die, I write about death because when death takes me I'd like to think that I am in the care of a wonderful friend. Writing is a language everyone can understand. Even when our words are confused and twisted, we find someone who translates perfectly. I speak for those who are scared and trapped and those whose voices have been stolen from them. God speaks through me and gives me strength to give to others. I will write until my end.
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