Tired I grew,
like an old oak tree,
decaying away.
Roots turning weak,
branches reaching out,
perfect for setting on fire
to keep others warm.
So I started to grow away,
setting roots
into the ground
I built myself.
New branches twisted and turned,
blooming with bright green leaves
that no one
can reach.
can't see the wood for the trees
YOU ARE READING
Titles are Overrated
PoetryThis is the equivalent of Notes app on your phone, so yeah, exposing myself. I guess it's considered poetry. Enjoy. :)
