pass

Pass

If I were a tree,

Would life, then, pass me by?

Would reality, and my lifetime, simply pan out,

right past me?

Would the generations of squirrels play on my branches, make love, and fall in love;

In and out of the seasons?

With the rain?

Would the only silhouette of the sun that i'll ever see, in the thick woods, be the reflection of the sun on top of the ripples on some creek?

Would I only ever feel the touch of butterflies on my leaves, and the wind against them?

Especially at noon?

Would I never fall in love again,

Nor see the sunset, with my own two eyes,

Would great beauty and valuable information,

COLLIDE against each other causing great music,

And would that happen, so far away from me?

And would all that profound surrealism, 

Before, and after my time,

Be permanently away from my eye and ear shot,

And Would I lust, crave, and long for something that I'll never be, 

And never fall in love with how beautiful MY flowers bloom,

As they grow old and die,

To ceremoniously float down the creek into eternity,

Of immortal squirrels, wind, and butterflies. 

Xoxo

Infantile Electrician