What is life without pain?
Whatever it is, is in vain.
What is pain to do in life?
If not help us rise above strife.

Why our soul do we bare?
Why is a moment of happiness rare?
Why in eternal delirium we exist?
If not to find destination past the mist.

And we still praise our life
and seek a petaled handle to a knife.
And we still go on to breath and breath
For we hope for heaven and soul to meet.

The moon-- the light of life in the lonely, silent night.
The only light, shining through abyss of darkness.
Light that is so pure, helping us see beauty in the deepness of night.
It is always there to show us the way..
There to hold us down..
But may allow our mind to drift~

Like you,
I read "The Giving Tree"
When I was young.
And I drank in that definition of love
With my roots.  
I wanted to be that tree.
I wanted to give that love
To everyone; to someone.  
And you found me
And carved your heart on mine.

I have the scar.

And I felt loved
For a while.
It felt good to give;
It felt good to see your smile,
For a while.  
It felt good to give you shade and shelter,
Stripping and shedding
Everything,
For you.
And it became our life.

So how could I blame you for the way you were treating me
Shearing me
Expecting me
to Give,
to Love,
to Serve—
Even when you no longer recognized me?

The rings on our fingers
Spoke nothing of the truer rings,
The rings recorded in me.  
It took many years to learn,
Many years to chop away at that old definition,
Many years to rip away the rotting bark,
Many years of knowing that
A tree is always there because
A tree’s roots are stuck within the ground.

But I am not a tree.