Splintered: A Poem

Spring Oak

His words splinter
as he swings his ax recklessly
The tree’s limbs which have sheltered him
now hang limp at his revelry

Does he not remember
sitting under her canopy, protected?
He rested at her roots,
Tree and he, they were connected

But he stopped sitting beside her
he no longer wanted the shade
She saw him sweating, burning in the sun
but couldn’t go to his aide

Instead of crossing to her branches
to stand beneath for comforting
He gets angry with her
blame’s her for his suffering

Out comes his ax,
not realizing what he is doing
His gaze locks on her
as he does his abusing

She see’s a familiar look,
there is shame in his eyes
He’s not the first to swing an ax
and shame often swings in disguise.