I am exhausted by strength today. I’ve often pretended to be a mighty oak fighting the storms Often fought the strongest winds while standing there in the open Alone and compelled to fight My wars, and most of the time theirs Bewildered and forlorn Glorifying the oak in me Yet I have always ended up crooked, scarred, and broken Unaccepting to the message of reality That there will always be lulls and long despairs And a lot of battles that you cannot choose But will still try to find someone Who’ll help me gather the fallen sticks, my gnarled and withered twigs To create something beautiful While I find again my quiet strength, my calm courage amidst any storm