Seven dead trees and one boy to mourn them

Life is full of people, who

Are walking around all full, and

I wonder sometimes If I am, the

Only one that’s empty

                                     

And I feel guilty when I sleep

Because I took those people,

For myself and I used them as much,

As I could to feel full, when I was

Hollow

I blew into them like a reed,

Flute with a yellow polish, and

The sound was like a wind that rushed

Through my canyon of a soul, vibrant

But just as empty as before

Maybe I’m meant, to return

To the ground I came from, and cast

My still hands like roots, so that my corpse

May become a home