Anomaly

If a tree grew from the rock, strained its fibers to the sky,
If it pushed leaves from branches thin, just so it could cry,
If it shoved out so hard its bark rent and blood dripped from the cracks,
Just so the branches' silhouette would make the sunset last;

If the sea thrashed its back, and tore itself apart,
If it threw itself hard upon unrelenting rocks,
If it crashed again and turned itself all white,
Just so all its scars could reflect the waning light;

And if the sun stepped off the edge of the burning sky,
If if fell through darkening clouds that edged their way awry,
If it sought to drown itself, to do so every day,
Just to check the night and let its colors play;

If all of these things happened, all this grief and death and pain,
And if it was on purpose, and none but self to blame,
What is the treasure great, that's making all these screams
Turn Beauty from the ashes, and Love from formless dreams?