Poetry: The Oak Tree at the Edge of the World

There is an oak tree

at the end of a winding road

Out passed the beaches

and the ritzy mansions,

Up on a cliff at the edge of the world.

I visited it with her in the spring of our relationship

Gates rattling, wind howling.

That was then. This is now.

The gate is locked; A toll upon the past

Pay it, and you can go back

but at the gate you have to leave a piece of yourself

How many times can I go back?

How much of me will be left behind?

Slowly eating away heart and amygdala, bone and sinew.

Soon just me in dust on the cliff, looking back, failing to move on.

Follow me on Twitter: @JoshKrook

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