Push

Never once did you utter,
A shout or a whisper,
Until I was already gone.
Laying next to you and paralyzed.
I was a thousand miles away,
But only I could reach you,
And still be shoved away.

Who opened the door,
For the voices in my head,
Or the hand that grips my throat?
I was dragged from you,
Kicking and screaming,
And all the while, silent and still,
You laid with your eyes closed.

Yet I hear your voice,
Calling me back home.
To make a journey of several years,
To be travelled in just one night,
To a place where I ran from.
In my head, I'm still afraid
Of a push that will drag me away.

Fallen Tree

He regarded the tree with an ax in his hand.

Once the blade bit into the wood, there would be no turning back. Still, he was sure it needed to be done, and with feet set, he swung the ax around in a fluid motion and buried it's blade into the wood with a smack. Yellow, moist wood could be seen through the smooth, dark bark once he yanked the blade from the trunk, and the smell of it filled his nostrils. He then took another swing...

To some, it seemed such a crime to hack down something that took years to nurture and grow. By all appearances, it was a healthy tree, but it bore very little fruit. Some years seemed to yield more than others, but even then, the numbers were modest compared to others in the orchard. Another tree would take it's place and maybe, produce a better harvest.

Groans could be heard as the wind pushed against the weakend tree. The farmer, catching his breath, surmised a couple more swings would finish the job; however, after delivering just one more blow, the snapping of the fibrous trunk announced that the tree had succumbed.

The farmer stood for a moment to regard the fallen tree with the ax still in his hand before burying its blade into the stump. After wiping his brow with a saw-dusted forearm, he joined those carrying saws to butcher the tree for the burn pile.