Each fast forward is a misunderstanding Though it remains the same, just darkens with each handing Harder for me to capture what’s written in ink When the physical now takes over all that I must think Seeds are the beginning of an expected progression But a tree that stands tall is Old without Lesson Shameful to hide behind mountains of growth When you recognize the same scars in each and in both Ironic is paper that is stripped down from tree When words of my root are setting me free.