Swaying to and fro,
weathering breeze and gale -
silently, leafless.
Standing ***** like sometimes I,
casting shadows twice a day -
never sleeping in the night’s, darkness.
Birds tend to rest upon their lofty branches,
but for a moment -
others a seasons, length.
Fluid from the sky drains to its roots,
nourished by the abundant ground swells -
growth spurts upward and, full.
The dull green color will never change,
its hue will be recognized differently -
during clouded, skies.
Its death may come as, lightning, STRIKES!
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
My poems rhyme
They certainly do
From beginning to end
You will hear them connect
I don’t know what gives me the knack
For the ending to seemingly stop.
Perfectly in unison they fit
Like a tiger in the jungle
If I had a chance
I would rhyme all day
And laugh
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
I am at double Four-double Four
Thirty-Fourth Street,
I could use a lift of sorts.
I would like to remain nameless,
my condition certainly is not.
My being seems out of place;
I have tried to keep focused.
The last group of days
have blurred together;
meaning lessens by define.
A bent key, I hold in my hand,
the remnant of a jagged world
unfulfilled by expectation;
of which I no longer fit.
Learned techniques fail me.
I was given this number,
by a caring friend;
said it would lead me
to truthful people.
Deemed credible I choose.
How I have hope, which is never lost!
Without reluctance I continue -
to the recommended anonym auditor;
tranquility listens further
to me
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC