Blue Eucalypt

A flat mountain range
Really more
Of a slight incline
From the western plains
Trying to rise
Above the city
But it’s not even a bump
In the surface
From that busy life

​

The blue haze
An illusion
A facade
An attempt by the trees
To mask their ordinariness
And paint themselves
With new life
New interest
Through the haze
Is ordinary green
Nothing exceptional to most
But extraordinary
In its safety
To those few
Who call it home

​

One road winds through
The eucalypt jungle
Slowly rising in altitude
On either side of the road
Black scars
Remind of the rage
From the inevitable flame
It tried its hardest
To melt the blue
Or green
Into ash
But the mask remains in tact
Scars simply signs
Of strength and character

​

Smaller paths lead from the road
Deeper into the trees
And I follow my feet
Atop my own tracks
Dented into the ground
The leaves
Squashed in shape
Around the weight
Of my shoes
From all of the times
I have been here before

​

In here I am too close
To see the mask
I am underneath it
I have broken through
The blue haze
And sit amongst the reality
The normality
Of the green
The eucalypt
Typical of its kind
But I don’t mind
It doesn’t need the blue
The green is just fine
Because it is mine

​

The facade is for the tourist
But I am its leaves
And it can be black or blue or green
If it please
I am underneath the colour
Closer to the core
And I don’t care
For the peak
Or the mask or the haze
So long as the eucalypt
Still stands
When I return