The Tree
I wrote this poem some years ago when I always visited this only tree out in the middle of a corn field. The farmer didn't chop it down in any manner, even though it was already dead. I always sat under it when the crops were gone, near my birthday. I always reminded me of something, but I don't really know what. All I know is one night I slept under that tree, and if felt good to be there.
I sat by the tree, where I use to think, laugh, and play
now I put my sorrow within the soil, memories staring back at me.
We sat by the tree, where we use to think, laugh, and play.
now we put forth our pain within the roots, hope leaving our souls.
They sat by the tree, where they use to think, laugh, and play.
now they bend and carve upon the skin, silence out of reach.
You sat by the tree, where you use to think, laugh, and play
now you spread your arms wide and high, hoping to taste life once more.
No One sat by the tree, for now No One could think, laugh, and play
now No One can reach dreams untold, leafs rejuvenated within the wind.