The Witching Hour is 2:31 AM
Listening to: Treme
Up upon the old hill with sweet, ripe berries borne,
The people stroll and they look upon the man with scorn.
He lay upon an orangewood cross, his eyes ever bright,
He dangle there with skin all-bare every single night.
They wander past, ever wondering why he smiles so,
As he is trapped and pain-wracked with not a place to go.
He grins at freed men who wander blind,
And aimless fools with peace of mind,
And cares not that his hands are tied
Upon that orangewood cross.
And as they hustle to and fro,
With all and any place to go,
He sits there with his eyes aglow,
The wood laden with moss.
And as it rots and he dips near
The grass of freedom and of fear
He worries not for he can hear
The voices of the free.
And as he smirks at their curious stares
Upon his body, thrashed and bare,
They finally see him standing there,
Upon his Orangewood cross.
For as they wander aimlessly,
Thinking their plans and hearts agree,
He bears his fate painfully,
With heart light and spirit free.
Upon his orangewood cross.
And as the nails do split the wood,
His body gives as it should,
And there he rests, his smile in place
Upon his aged face.
He died with not a thought of loss,
No considerations of cost,
Only a smile, that’s what he got,
Even upon his orangewood cross.
The above poem came to me as I was doing work, and I questioned why orangewood was so important. Upon looking it up, the purpose of orangewood, the site said was “to help you follow your passions with abandon.” It showed me the entire meaning of this kind of ramshackle poem I put together. The message is, people may be calculated and shame you for not being so, but if you are happy in your aimlessness or risky decisions, you are in a better place than the unhappy people who ‘have it all figured out.’ Never be afraid to dream, You’ll never die wishing everything had been more predictable.