The Stoic

There was a tree across the street
I looked at it through the rusty window grill
It looked young when the skies were cloudy
when its leaves danced along
the rhythm of the plattering rain
and went green with joy
but after the rain stopped
the tree it grew weary and dark
it moved less and when it did
it gave away all its leaves without a regret
until it was barren

I went to it
and looked at its barren structure
I could not bear the wretchedness of the
branches reaching out for someone’s help
bark that had become black of the sadness accumulated in it
the abasement of the empty tree hole

So, I set the tree free
free of its irksome reincarnation cycle
free of its obligation to the ungrateful me
free of the constant enthroning and dethroning
“One at a time”, I thought
“And maybe one day I will be the cure
not the disease.”