Towers

By Keskron

When discontent, I climb the towers

that stand in my backyard. Despite the scratches

scattered 'mongst my arms and maple sap

seeping into my skin, I take refuge in the nests

of a thousand coniferous needles

spreading upward from their roots.

Meddling down below, accompanied by roots

sneakily trying to trip me, I look to the towers

with naïve envy. I itch and burn and scratch

for a taste of being amidst their fleshy sap,

every day enjoying the animals that nursed their nests

throughout the intricate needles.

Crawling like string through a needle,

I worm through the canopy, noting the roots

down below from the eyes of my towering,

viridian fortress. Hearing the scratching

of squirrels on twigs beyond my reach, their nests

built with glue of the ever-flowing sap.

Sometimes my palms caress the sap

without warning, as if they wished to root

themselves within the mahogany nest

of the forest. I wish to build a great tower

of my own, to pursue the pine needles

with the urge to scavenge and scratch

I am an animal, biting and scratching

and howling, searching for my roots

within this kingdom hidden in the towers.

I say to them, "I long to be your sap.

I long to live in needless worry with your needles

as my forever nest."

But I hear from my perch - my nest -

an echo in the branches and thunder in the roots

of the giants giving birth to the needles

and slobbering over me with their sap.

Pensively, I hear the scratching

Voices; I hear an answer from the towers:

"Here us speak, for we are the towers

Of your dreams. Love not the needles

That you envy - find content in your roots."