Burning fire,
Bright and warm,
Brought to ashes
By the storm.

Not hot, now cold,
I'm chilled to the bone,
And worst of all,
I'm completely alone.

A tear drips slowly
Down my cheek.
Can't wipe it away,
I'm far too week.

The storm's getting stronger,
My time here is done.
As lighting first strikes,
I jump and I run.

I finally find shelter
Deep in a cave,
Where I huddle and cower,
And feel like a slave.

I think of how scared
I am for my life,
All because of the storm,
Which fills me with strife.

At some point in the night,
I fall into deep sleep.
A awake to the sun,
To my great relief.

Though I know what I see,
How can it be real?
After so long,
The rain's all I can feel.

I am a bird;
let me fly free.
Unlock my chains
so that I can be.

I dream to take off
into the stars,
and then go flying
straight onto Mars.

I'll discover what was,
what is and can be.
I'll come home with my finds
so that all finally see.

Earth may be my home,
but if I can fly,
I can take off and explore
more than this planet's sky.

Day in and day out,
I just want to shout,
While the pain in my brain,
Drives me insane.

My heart aches,
By body shakes,
I don't know how
Much more I can take...

When you look into the mirror,
What is it that you see?
Is it her? Is it she?
Or really, is it me?

Do you think about me
As I think about you?
Do you wish I was there
As I hope that you do?

My heart aches in the longing,
For us to be together,
For our love to shine, on and on,
For eternity and forever.

But what if I am wrong,
And you do not love me so?
My heart will surely break,
And I won't know where to go.

For now all that I can do
Is hope and pray and love.
All powered by a strength
That comes only from above.

So next time that you choose
To look into the mirror,
Think about whose face
Comes out so much clearer.

Fire burning,
Heat on my skin.
Killing me slowly,
Don't let it in.

Not calm, nor gentle,
Just wild and strong.
I hope that it doesn't
Last for too long.

Oh fire, crude fire,
Please do not stay.
Just finish me off,
Take my last breath away.

Do you hear me?
Do you see me?
Do you feel me,
Standing,
Here next to you?

And have you ever,
Truly cared for,
Me,
Or us,
Or has it only been you?

Have you ever wondered why?
Why you never heard me cry?

Well it's because you never cared enough to listen,
All those times that you made my eyes glisten.

Every tear that I did shed,
Was always so misread.

You thought they were of happiness,
But really they were not.
They were of the hurt and hate
And all the pain that I fought.

I'm hurting from the inside out,
All I want to do is SHOUT!
But no one would ever hear me.
You wouldn't even care to see me...

Yet still I'm trying to stay strong,
I just don't know for how long.

If a tree falls in the forest
and someone is there to chop it down,
did it really fall at all?
And is a tree only a tree when its roots are deep in the ground?
What then, when the man cuts it down?
Does it still exist?
It is dead when its roots are shriveled up.
When we die, we no longer exist.
Or do we?
Are our roots still extended?
Our connections remaining while we are gone, though not for good?
Are our souls still around,
to strut around the town?
Wait, does a tree have a soul?
Or is it really gone, when it's gone?
When it turns into paper in a factory,
has the tree disappeared, destroyed?
Or is all that paper still the tree, torn up and annoyed?

So what happens when we're gone?
Are we cut up in a factory and packaged up
to be sent to stores all through the town?
They call us ***** donors.
Are we written on and doodled upon
like a worthless piece of paper?
People talk, they gossip, hurt us with words,
label us with their judgments,
make us feel worthless.
No one should feel worthless!
Even a tree.

But isn't a tree just a thing?
It isn't a person, nor an animal.
But it is alive,
moving, trying to strive,
for recognition, just like the rest of us.
It reaches its branches higher, higher,
only to be sliced apart and turned into a flyer.
If I was chopped down,
and just as I was working my hardest,
I'd be sad, I'd be mad, I'd be crushed inside and out.
I don't want to be like paper, used,
crumbled into a ball, abused,
if asked, it would be refused,
"Can I cut you down?"
No.
Never.
Stop, stop, STOP!
A tree is never asked, "Is this okay?"
They're just cut down, there's no other way.
And we're the same, even today.
We cut down others, we go and say,
"You ******! You freak! No one likes you, go away!"
HEY!

These words are ugly,
not like the people they're aimed at.
No one deserves to be made fun of,
to be hurt,
stepped on,
chopped down like a tree.
And those bullies will see.
It'll come back and then they will be,
cut down and hurt, just like a tree.
If a person is cut down,
and no one hears them cry,
do they still exist?
Do they still matter?
Of course they do,
though they feel like they don't.

Everyone matters, even when they don't think they do,
even at their lowest low,
when they won't know where they should go,
there's a place, a safe haven,
out there somewhere.
In the arms of friends, family, neighbors.
No one is ever truly alone.
And do you know what?
Neither is a tree.
When if falls, someone will be there
and someone will care.
Everyone and everything matters,
everyone and everything has a purpose.
Even you and me,
and even a measly tree.