This pain that I used
to know
buried so deep inside,

has found a new escape
from where
it used to hide,

with roots in
pain and anguish
sprouts the tiny tree,

whose branches
block the light,
and make it hard to see,

no more the sunny rays
of hope and trust
naive

now flocks of
hateful birds land
in branches of that tree,

I feel, and feel,
and feel -  pain
and loss - unkind

I cry aloud to God -
He answers
in my mind,

the smallest wisp
of strength,

takes root inside
my soul,

take up the axe
and grind it, 

 cut the branches
the trunk - take control.

Fly away
hateful birds,

this land is mine -
not yours

burn the timber of that tree -

warm my soul.

I'm free.