Two trees don’t make a forest
by Abner Dormiendo
We were so in love we almost died
but we never did. End of story.
By now we would have been walking
on opposite directions and the one
who turns his back will turn into
stone, or pillar of salt, or a tree
with all the promises of forever
carved in it, a letter plus a letter
equals a heart pierced with an arrow,
the arrow pointing to that place
where this ideal tree is imagined
to grow fruitless but full of love, and I wish
we could be like that: barren but in love,
but instead we were fruits, all the fruits
in all the world as far as fruits are concerned,
all the sweetness without the sugar
but with all their stones, all their rinds,
all the seeds a flesh could hide
but could not spread, could not scatter.
Day 9 of NaPoWriMo: write a calligram, which is basically a poem with some sort of visual form. Now, I never pride myself as a visual artist, so I just opted not to follow the prompt.