Burnt Oak
burnt oak,
burnt oak being
scratching a living
from the all seeing
burnt oak,
forest staked on a hill
a knife to carry
and iron will
burnt oak,
bruised and tapered i am
strapped to the hands
of a greater world
a creators puppet i am
feel the icy fingers of fate
and its frostbitten hands
burnt oak,
stabilised to work
living from day to day
do not cry for the future
it is there to be saved
James Garratt – Thursday 1st February 2001
More poems at
https://theboybehindtheglasses.com/
More about this blog, The Boy Behind the Glasses, here
https://theboybehindtheglasses.com/2020/01/08/the-boy-behind-the-glasses-an-introduction/
More poems from 2001 here
https://theboybehindtheglasses.com/category/poetry-and-writing-2001/
Burnt Oak – Written Thursday 1st February 2001 (Aged 25)
The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing 