Bestowed

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Bestowed upon thee
Ravaging my heart and soul
Nothing more nothing less
I must now confess, stress
The fact, my life is a mess
Less than I pictured it to be
I’m mean, steamed, reeled
Concealed in the silence of the trees
Is the echo I see in me
I admire their fluid state with which they take on life
Adjusting to whatever is
True surrender to life’s greatness
Weightless, tasteless, shameless
Bittersweet and sad their presence
With that I can see the beauty in their silent being
Malleable and deep, essentially existing to exist
Not to resist, throw up their fists, write lists
Dis, reminisce, quietly creaking
Speaking a language of their own

I roam with You now.

Ian Altosaar

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