Broken Beats

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Broken Beats

The forest hums, a silent, lonely sigh,
Two hearts once one, now watch the branches fly.
Each rhythmic tap—a memory, a phantom sound,
Of love once shared, on hallowed, hollow ground.

                                Her Memories – The Female Woodpecker’s Side

I remember your drumming—loud, alive, and clear,
It echoed through the boughs, a song I held dear.
But then, another rhythm from a distant tree,
A flash of red, and joy not meant for me.
My heart recoiled, a splintered, sudden dread—
Another’s beat, another nest, inside my head.
My tapping faltered, lost its steady chime,
Believing now your melody beat to different time.

His Truth – The Male Woodpecker’s Side

She never knew—my fervent, pounding beat
Was for our future home, for love, for something sweet.
I scoured the bark for grubs, for strength, for song,
To claim a space where we, at last, belong.
That distant tree? A warning drum I played,
To drive a rival from the nest we'd made.
My silence held no lies, just labored, honest strain,
To build a haven whole, beyond the wind and rain.

His Memories – The Male Woodpecker’s Side

And you, my love, you too began to stray,
To mossy logs where sunlight lost its way.
Your calls grew faint, your taps a distant hum,
I feared some other beat had made you numb.
I pecked out questions, sharp across the air,
But your replies felt fractured, lost somewhere.
Had some new grove caught you unaware?
Some scent of change? Some song I couldn’t bear?

Her Truth – The Female Woodpecker’s Side

He didn’t know—I flew to find a cure,
For our old dogwood, fading, fragile, unsure.
Its bark had dulled, its leaves were losing tone,
A burden I had quietly made my own.
I kept my distance, fearing he might see,
The dying tree that once held dreams for me.
My answers short, my songs subdued and torn—
To guard him from the grief I had long borne.


Now perched apart, on lonely, splintered boughs,
The truth, unfeathered, softly speaks aloud.
Each misread tap, each glance, each silent flight—
Fractured the branch we built, and stole our light.
Regret’s a forest where echoes mourn and drift,
A love misheard, now buried in the mist.
Oh, fragile hearts with wings that beat apart,
To know the truth—yet play no mending part.


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