Deconstruction

Deconstruction

I tried to build a tree,
out of glue and sticks.
Out of paper mache,
and I didn't do it quick.

I gathered each leaf,
to connect to each branch.
I was going to complete this marvel,
this was my chance.

I made each plank
reach deep in the ground.
I hammered so hard
the neighbors screamed:

"Stop that Sound!"

Then one day
after everything had dried,
it was complete.
A tear came to my eyes.

To look at it
was a perfect recreation,
but that was just it,
it was only a fashion.

For when I looked beside it
what did I see?
But the tiny sapling,
of a still growing tree.

It had so much potential,
to grow so tall.
To produce it's own,
it had it all.

So I looked back,
at my faux tree,
and realized:
there wasen't much to see.

I had created a monster.
Art has no life.
I had created a mould,
with no soul to hide.

I tried so hard,
to recreate,
that I never saw:
I gave my creation no fate.

So I started to deconstruct,
tore each branch from the helm.
This- thing- had no place,
I should not dwell.

It was all gone,
and all stood was me,
except for the tiny sapling,
of my still growing tree.

-Matthew Koutzun