Sep 2020
Through my window
Lies an old bark
Chopped away, used up
For flames long cold.
The rain is useless.
The sunshine a memory.
The damp black dirt
The only hope it knows.
Just roots remain
Sinking into Nothingness,
A pale faded oak
Turning grey and ******.
Cracked and wrinkled,
Scarred and blunt.
It doesn't move with the Wind
Or offer shelter and
Reprieve.
It just wants to rot away
Before tomorrow comes.
But each night,
This old bark stares
Back through my window...
Waiting with me.
Lies an old bark
Chopped away, used up
For flames long cold.
The rain is useless.
The sunshine a memory.
The damp black dirt
The only hope it knows.
Just roots remain
Sinking into Nothingness,
A pale faded oak
Turning grey and ******.
Cracked and wrinkled,
Scarred and blunt.
It doesn't move with the Wind
Or offer shelter and
Reprieve.
It just wants to rot away
Before tomorrow comes.
But each night,
This old bark stares
Back through my window...
Waiting with me.
