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
