The Rejection of Unbeing

It leaps out, like that one tree
in the scrublands,
and as easily dismissed.
The struggle to grow
amidst buffeting winds,
beneath blistering sun,
above selfish earth,
means nothing to the man
rushing by in his metal box,
listening to his metal tunes.
Still the tree is there,
and still more so being,
thrusting itself into our lives
only to be used and dismissed
— not ignored, it is too
intrusive for us to ignore —
despite its presence.
It proclaims “This. Is.”
yet we wonder what might be;
will it make a good bench?
will it, perhaps, one day
be riddled with bullets?
should the sun and changing winds
scorch even it to nothing?
It shall continue to intrude,
penetrating the hardness of minds,
asking us to look and see,
touch and taste being,
to realize “it is” and it is
wonder; beyond quantity,
quality, imagination.
The lone tree beckons;
will you walk with me?

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