Wood Holds Weight

Wood holds weight people never could.

Hands pressing down on the lumber the way my body should.

Would it grow back into the tree it was cut from,

From all the tears it  soaked?

Yet, ‘twas i who had reached for the axe 

Wanderers of the night, do you cut too so the starlight reaches your eyes?

Only to realize, your breath was falling short looking up at the sky

There was no air left, none to breathe.

Wood didn't give me the pinions i had wished it would

The sky never came closer, there i remained stuck on the mud from which i was made

So now i dig at the earth, hoping if i stuff myself with sand 

I would become large enough to hold the stars

But the stars remain as high as ever as i dig myself into the ground

Mud fills my throat as i stuff it everywhere i could to become immense 

Gasping for breath, they light my incense. 

The mud held me closer than the stars ever could. 

And so they buried me among the ordinary.

Still i felt my eyes wide open, the sand not blurring my vision, 

Staring up at the stars from deep within the earth. 

Sophie Hanna Phillip