As the lone tree stands
In the dead of winter,
With it's long arms splayed to touch the setting sun,
It watches curious ravens fly away
And snow settle on the ground,
The tree wondered why he was placed here,
In this ugly, barren world,
He wondered why the snow wasn't touching his branches,
And why there was a swing tied to on of his arms,
That he could not feel but see it blowing uselessly in the wind,
As the lone tree stands,
Wishing for the ravens to come back,
He just stands there with scars from the swing slowly engraving itself in him,
Wondering if the mysterious birds would care if the great storm would push him over and the roots of all he's known get ripped out from the soil, he was born,
As the lone tree stands,
Pleading the wind to finish him,
So he could leave this hell,
And live the afterlife,
He didn't care no more about life, knowledge, the future,
He got his wish.
As the lone tree's soul floated above his blood stricken body,
Waiting for where he should go next,
He noticed things,
There were houses, kids, dogs and lots of other trees surrounding him,
And as the lone tree watches the children and parents gather to the fallen tree,
They weep for the loss of this great one,
Who once stood but fell by a gust of wind.
I made this poem in reflection of myself. In the past present and maybe future, how things just engrave in you but you can't feel them, but so many other things hurt too. It's pretty self explanatory.