My Bonsai thinks I am evil.
It might be right.
My bonsai has such high aspirations! It grows and grows,
reaching towards heaven with its ever broadening leaves stretching towards the endless front yard.
It feels that it’s world is too small. For, You see, it lives in a very small pot.
It’s right. compared with the world I know. It’s little pot is a finite world indeed.
And just when it reaches farther than it’s ever reached before,
Just before it’s leaves get their strongest, ready for amazing adventures beyond it’s dreams.
I cut them off.
And I’m sure it hurts.
Just when it’s branches have begun to taste the air of freedom and magic.
It take out my scissors, and return it to it’s lower lackluster state.
My Bonsai has such a big thirst.
It is always striving to get more and more from it’s life.
So, it’s roots dig down deep, deep into it’s earthen home.
Every time it gets more, it wants more, and it grows.
Such a trait we admire in most men, but in this plant it won’t do.
So, I yank it painfully from it’s comfort zone, with roots clenching down.
and I cut them too.
I take the same scissors that cut it’s reach. and I diminish it’s gains.
and I’m sure it hurts.
What my bonsai does not know, is that it will be it’s own demise.
For though it stretches out, thinking another world is ready to be seen.
It is not ready to see it.
For it’s trunk still belongs in this world. The one in it’s pot.
And it doesn’t know,
That should it stretch too far, it would become too big for it’s world.
Thus it’s world wold no longer sustain it. and it would die.
For like us, when we stretch out too far. As with us and Nimrod in the towers erection.
We were found confused, as we tumbled from a world we weren’t ready for.
So too, this young plant may one day be a mighty oak, or it might be overcome.
It’s all up to timing. My perfect timing.
My bonsai doesn’t know that in it’s quest for more,
as it plunders all the resources I have provided it,
In the end it will have it all, and turn on itself.
and be found dead,
For we too, thirst for happiness and security.
but when have it. We still lack.
So we turn inward and continue to devour.
But it’s our own divine humanity we consume.
Until at the end, in our grave,
The only perfectly true epitaph would read
So like us, this sapling must be cut off,
Uprooted, if it is to be saved.
and replanted, and nourished by the same hands that took it’s strength.
My bonsai may think I’m evil.
But I am saving it all the same.