I grew within the barren tree

Twisted branches, desolate leaves,

Bitter bark to protect from disease,

And all the burning cold that creeps.

“Death,” pronounced, but the view deceives

Cut through to pulp, and life will bleed.

While all the force of gale and fury

Shaping with each stroke of cruelty

Aimed for roots, but merely stripped the eaves.

Sky breaks open, a breath to see

Warm rays, the scent of security.

Seasons change, eventually.

But I, protected, possessed, will flee

Under the skin of death and deeds

And lies of a life I can’t believe.

I title this existence, “Free.”

About viewingcamelot View all posts by viewingcamelot

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