sometimes I look at myself and I see a rock

hard

angular and solid

never bending to the will of another or the force of the wind

incapable of being morphed

except by the sharpest chisel

rocks know no time

everlasting

never changing



but to be honest I wish I looked and I saw a tree and not a rock

for trees may be weaker, yes

they do know time, they fall powerless to its passing

they are weak against wind

they do not always make it

but trees, they grow

and the wrinkles they earn they never try to conceal

trees have seen things, they know stories

they’ve lost branches

they’ve grown new ones

trees see death and new life again and again

and the mess of a tree tells the tale of many years

they morph, and they change

they may be powerless to outside forces

they may bend and sometimes break

but when a tree makes it, there is something glorious

and admirable

because rocks, they exist.

but trees, trees actually live.