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.