I layed beneath the dying tree
Staring at it’s gnarled branches.
They sprawled outward, trying
To capture the fluffy, pillow-like clouds
With their crooked fingers.
I close my eyes.

Am I like this tree,
Waiting for death to overcome me?
I sit in this unsifted ground,
Decaying and hating the beauty all around.

I sit and watch.
I wish to grow.
I wish to become beautiful.
But, Death’s grasp is strong.
CRUNCH!
My brittle bones break beneath Death’s fist.
I become gnarled, paralyzed, deformed.

I open my deep-blue eyes.
There, on the deathly-ill tree was a green leaf.
It is as green as the grass
On a nice, sunny, warm day in spring.
Greener, like the grass on the other side.

I smile a bright smile that can blind you.
I smile knowing the tree has a second chance
To be beautiful.
I smile knowing that I have a second chance
To be beautiful, inside and out.
I wonder if that tree can see me dream.