Tom

Just something I wrote in bed. It's like poetry but none of the devices in there probably.

I am like a dieing tree,
Trying so hard to be,
Someone like me, someone like you,

And even when I’m dead
Uncared for, Unfed,
I manage to get ahead, get along,

And When I Blossom, when I grow,
Remarkable things I start to show,
Hidden things you begin to know, begin to feel,

Beautiful colours through broken bark,
Standing up in the midst of dark,
Yet this you mark, this you ruin,

Setting alight to my structure,
Each leaf you fracture,
Each twig you puncture, how it hurts,

I am in the way; I am of no use,
Easily hurt and easily bruised,
It’s you who can choose, choose the wrong way,

Yet, Once again the cycle starts,
Rebuilding branches, rebuilding bark,
Each representing someone’s heart, my heart,

I am like a dieing tree,
No matter what you to do to me,
I will always be here and I will always be free

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terrib

I had to read it twice but I liked it. My favorite verse was next to last. I loved that part. I had to see where you were from when I saw how you spelled colors. (smile)

Tom

Thanks for the kind words Terrib.

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