What am I?
Something for sure.
But am I a tree,
Standing strong against the wind,
Or am I a flower,
Dainty and beautiful,
There to be seen.
If I am a tree,
What can I see?
Do I stand tall,
Casting a wide shadow about,
Or do I stoop low,
My branches spreading wide.
If I am a flower,
Where do I take root?
Am I one of the city lilacs
Growing amongst the pavement,
Or do I live in a lush
Green meadow, sun shining down?
If I am a tree,
Will I be cut down?
Surely it is harder to cut
down a tree than to pluck up a flower.
Will I be left, for fear of falling
The wrong way,
Or will people try
To cut me down, none the less.
If I am a flower,
Does someone put me in a vase?
Surely it is easier to pick
a flower, than to chop a tree,
and shape it.
Wether to discard me or keep,
People will uproot me,
And take me for their own.
And should it make a difference,
If I am a flower or a tree?
What if I am neither,
What if I am simply me.
YOU ARE READING
Shitty Poems
PoetryI write crappy poems as rants, and I feel like sharing them so I'm gonna put them all here.
