I Am the Tunnel of Trees
I am not a road.
I am a vein, an artery,
pulsing with quiet storms
beneath my canopy ribs.
My branches—skeletal,
gnarled fingers stretching
for an embrace that never comes,
shaking off whispers of lost pilgrims.
You tread on my spine,
your weight barely a whisper,
yet I feel it.
Every footprint, a tiny rebellion
against my century-old silence.
And I, the corridor of twilight,
watch the years slip through me,
slipping into the light that hides beyond.
I remember their carriages.
The creak of wheels, the hiss of whispers—
their secrets hung
in my boughs like cobwebs.
Faint voices of lovers and betrayers,
and children with laughter that spilled
like golden leaves,
crushed now, under cold rubber.
Do you see the horizon?
I don’t.
My eyes curve inward—
folding, folding into
a cathedral of dusk.
I speak to no one,
yet every breeze recites
a sermon through my arches.
And what of you?
Passing through me,
your mind too busy
to hear my requiem.
You take pictures,
but not memories,
your soul a transient echo
against my permanence.
I am older than your steps.
Older than your questions.
Older than the silence I hold
like a reluctant child.
My roots dig through
the bones of centuries,
and I feed on time.
When you leave,
I will remain,
as I have remained,
a womb for shadows,
a grave for the light.
You think you are crossing me,
but I am the journey,
and you—
you are just passing through.

#Poetry #NatureInspired #TunnelOfTrees #PoetryOfTime #EmotionalVerse #Whatdoyousee #wdys

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