Not Green

The tree is dead, today.
Spread across the limitless horizons
With its infinite wisdom, and charred branches
It stands, several ants escape
Their lifeless abode, lest the tempest
Of silent sap and flamboyant pollen -
Blows them away into nothingness.

You were there, the quiet whisperer -
Climbing its stony boughs, sprigs cradling you
You were touched, weren't you?
The fire lit its insides, but left you
With tears ablaze, and a strange leafy musk
That you will reek of, whenever you lie -
Or lie next to me, possibly medicinal smelling.

They will come in hordes and swarms
It will rain a million tears.

I have the axe here, see, saw too -
Dead trees must lay forgotten.
But what do I do with the stump
With roots clawing far beneath, holding on
And here in my clinic heart, the storms
Rage on, creating new dunes of sand.
Yellow and brown, not green.