Personification Poem

I am an Oak Tree
By S.H. Onyx


I am an oak tree.
Each morning, I open my eyes to a warming light.
I stretch while slowly winding and twisting my limbs.
I shade the saplings and bushes that spring up from my roots.

I am an oak tree.
I sing a rustling song and dance a graceful dance every Summer dawn.
The sunlight shimmers, reflecting off of the dew on my leaves.
As long as the wind blows, I do not sleep.

I am an oak tree.
I take turns reaching toward the clouds and the stars.
I stand prodigious and proud, while observing the vast forest,
And when the night falls, I am witness to it's secrets.

I am an oak tree.
I am shelter to the creatures of the earth-shaking spirit.
She casts lightning over the sky, so I duck my head.
After the storms, as I sway in the breeze, I can hear the rhythm of the woods.

I am an oak tree.
On special occasions, God paints my leaves a glorious shade of gold.
Soon afterward, ice crystals will slip through Zeus' fingers, showering my family and I.
In the cold, my branches sink from weariness, and the world is still and silent except the whisper of white rabbits.

I am an oak tree.
When mother sun returns, I will radiate energy, renewed after a long sleep.
I squint to search for butterflies, bouncing in the new mist.
Enclosed in my body for so long, my product is bountiful and sweet.

I am an oak tree.
If you listen closely, you will hear my heartbeat.
Do not forget the spirits that remain unseen.
I will stand here always, breathing each day's fresh air. I'll be waiting, watching, listening.

Walking In Circles

We are walking in a circle,
For a circle has no sides.
If we sit in just the center,
We won't see what outside hides.
So we'll be walking in a circle,
For the rest of our lives.

On the inside is a staircase.
On the outside is a key.
Both with patterns drawn so intricate,
No human eye could see.
So all that we can do,
Is be the best that we can be.

Those, they say, who leave the circle,
Have had the courage to brawl,
Claiming circles are tornadoes.
Through the center people fall!
So those who walk perimeters,
Will walk into a wall.

We who have grand hopes and dreams,
Are made to solve this riddle:
The strong winds that control tornadoes,
Are born from stones so brittle,
That wind cannot escape these shadows.
Just what's in the middle.

By S.H. Onyx

Poem to be Written

I'm leaving for the Promised Land,
I'll take with me my Drummer.
I'll hold on to all my memories,
Be gone before late summer.

I don't know if the people there
Will share my native tongue.
A circle has been my influence.
Each tuneless song been sung.

As I'm weaving sun and moon,
I plan yet another poem.
My entire life I've been here,
So I must be heading home.

By S.H. Onyx