A battered farmhouse,
Sitting lonely beside a weathered barn.
Both seem lucky to be alive
After all of the life that they have seen.

Torn and rather worse-for-wear,
They both stand proud and stark;
Undeterred by time; a testament
To those who have come and those who are gone.

The trees beside them hide their secrets,
Well-kept in the dense, uncontrolled leaves.
Knotted, tall, and strong;
Nature runs wild here.

What I would give
To live in this place;
So beautiful and free;
So akin to what I believe of home.

Where love and life prosper,
More than they ever could
In those harsh, lonely, boxes,
So close together that one can hardly breathe.

But suffocation is foreign here,
With room to run and room for hearts to grow.
Families gather and love blossoms;
So hard for those so tightly packed.

You can't see life to its fullest,
When full is all you know.
Yet the heart remains forever empty;
Deprived of its most primal desires.

Sorrow and anger;
Frustration and longing;
None of them bearing the slightest resemblance
To the shape of my young heart.

Concrete and stone;
My outlook on life;
Much more familiar
Than the green that I see.

The clouds up above,
The stars underneath,
Shining as if to ask,
"What have you done?"

My life is so small,
Yet I feel so deep.
My mind reaches out;
To infinity and beyond.

I feel the trees sway with the wind,
Submitting to the powerful oxygen.
Will I do the same?
Or will I stop the *******?