Posted in Poems

Chestnut

Last night was an interesting one
If a night deserved a description
I’d describe it as burnt and overdone
Like a work of overused fiction
The night was dark, just like any other night would be
But in the shadows, I saw
A man who looked like me
But his hands were charred to a crisp
And his eyes, they could not see
So I remained a quiet one
Observing from behind a tree
He did not stumble
Through the woods that darkness plagued
He seemed filled up with confidence
As if he clearly knew the way
He depended not on his senses
Which is sensible, I suppose
For the senses only show us
What’s right in front of our nose
He walked this way and that
He was searching, looking for what?
Then distinctly I heard him mutter
“Dear god, where is my chestnut?”
So this man who looked like me
This man who could not see
He was looking for a chestnut, apparently
So he’d scrounge about in the leaves
Then look behind a tree
While I stood there just watching
Watching the man who looked like me
The woods, they were not eerie
This is important, you must understand
That the forest was not scary
It was instead, oddly out of hand
Almost like an orange grove
That hasn’t been pruned in ages
Yes, the oranges may taste delicious
But the grove, my god, how outrageous
And that’s how this forest felt
It was decrepit, lost, and old
It hadn’t been seen in centuries
It was hidden, quiet, untold
Only two men had touched it
A man and his apparent clone
A clone with severely charred hands
And eyes that were burned at the cone
And so he continued his search
And I, being bored, moved along
Never once knowing the lurch
Of the man who once belonged
So I guess that’s who he was
He was a small sliver of me
A sliver that once knew love
And was burned by his own inward burning
And I guess he’ll keep on looking
For the chestnut for which he had a need
For when your eyes are blinded
The symbolism, you cannot see

Author:

I'm a writer, filmmaker, and Human. I think...

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