Alone on the grassy plain my roots run deep into the moist cold earth yet the water no longer brings life. My branches bear no leaves for shade and the color of life has left me. Dark an ominous my shell remains. I am leaned on and used for support but no one stays for the beauty has gone. One day the fire will consume my dry coarse shell and the winds will scatter my ashes along the plain and the memory of all that i've done will fade away. Forgotten like the fog that was pushed away by the suns vibrant light. One day I will be no more for I was nothing to begin with. I was only "that tree", never "thee tree". 

By Matthew branton

The clouds slowly moving through the sky as if they were the breath from her bossom on a cold winters night. Slowly morphing from grey to silver as they approach her vibrant light. Hidden from view as the clouds roll over yet her pressence radiates a warmth thats urgent and sense of freedom that's intoxicating. As I look into the mirror in the sky I envision her lying there as the sheets carres her soft succulent skin, flowing over her curves giving just a glimpse of the beauty beneath. Her power eminates and engulfs me, even the seas move to a rythm they themselves do not understand, all for her. Hidden beneath the layers of woven silk is a gift that is seldom seen, a beauty that the eyes cannot grasp, only the heart can see and it's power and beauty can move the world like nothing you've ever seen. True beauty you can't understand. True beauty you can't control. True beauty is free, the way it's supposed to be. My dear, true beauty is you, did you really think this poem was just about the moon.   

By Matthew branton