The blight

From “The colors of wheatfields”


We all missed something.




He was so afraid of losing the rose

The little prince completely forgot to take care of the tree

That was dying on his planet

Because he let the blight spread

Now the elder almost stands dead.




With skin now as hard as scales.


It wasn’t the flower that needed his attention

It was the tree all along.


It looked so deeply rooted in the ground

But he should have guessed the distress behind its peaceful sound

When the wind blew between the branches.


Eyes that never set on its shiny leaves

Deprived of consideration, this beautiful tree

That’s being consumed on the inside

Will soon fall to its demise.


It was in the desert all along

In this so called empty place

It was a green shade here to guide him

Even when light was dim

He, who chose to be blind

He, who only cared about his own mind.


How could it be?

Who could believe that trees needed watering?

Who could believe that something so big and solid could be falling?


They’re taken for granted

But trees can die

And fall over you

Especially when they grow on sick roots.


Trees can get tired of your selfishness

Your silent grins

Your words that drown

And your carelessness.


The prince was lamenting

But there were colors all along.


Now it will fall and smash him on the ground

That’s what happens when you forget about the things that matter

When the tree grows fruit

Each one more bitter than the other.


When you are its blight.


You know what they say

Trees can never be seeds again

But remember that you’re responsible for what you tame

Maybe things don’t have to stay the same.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License

2 thoughts on “The blight

  1. Trees either pass or grow stronger.
    Succeeding seasons change them, too,
    Let spring find them before pests do,
    They’ll give new fruits from fresh flowers.


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