Such a strong branch holding up the
fruits of so many seasons but then one
winters wrath did the wind pick a fight.

Though it fought against the odds, it bent
within the breath of failing and yielded to
                       the chosen fate and befell its birth.


Falling silently in a wood of mute descents,
           where nothing was heard, but everything
knew that something was not as it was before.

Even thought strength held it at the yearning of all
below now it was stagnant. Then eyes pondered upon
its elegance. A fortitude of worth now meant for other means.


And though cleaved it was meant for a purpose,
             not one that it knew, now sewn on to
metallic wows. Sharp edges flowed like breath.

And so many times did it fall, not as before
                       this time it drank a different dew..
    teardrops flowed upon its eternal falling.

But it never grew weak, feeding on the nourishment
                                   of each diminishing stance.
Though it fell from the tree it still grew in depravity.



What was once a yearning life, growing further than
any other. It fell and became contaminated within
                                  earthly pleasures which it drank upon..    

A moment falls that severs ever moment before,
                     and what falls in moments after isn't
confused.  
                             It now has a purpose of the death it felt.