Scarlet leaves, falling falling.
Orange leaves, drifting drifting.
Golden leaves flowing away.
The storm is coming.
You can feel it in your barren branches,
Defenseless, unable to protect yourself
From what's to come.
Violent, cold winds attack you.
Suffering, you do what you can
Branches are ripped from your core.
Your roots cling to the ground
In desperation.
The storm passes,
Taking hell away with it.
It leaves you naked and broken.
You glance around you warily.
The other trees have kept their branches.
But not you.
Never you.
The sun arrives
From its peaceful slumber.
It sees how damaged you are and
Warms your branches.
It whispers sweet nothings
And slowly, leaves grow again,
But not your branches.
They'll forever be lost.
The other trees look stronger.
With brighter leaves
And larger branches.
But that doesn't matter.
You can provide shade
And shelter for creatures.
They rely on you.
A thought crossed your mind:
How can I protect others,
But never myself?
Then, the wind starts getting colder.
You dread what's coming.
Your scarlet leaves begin falling falling
Your orange leaves drifting drifting
And your golden leaves,
The last ones to be ripped away from you
Before the storm returns.
Oh how it enjoys its torture.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
PoetryI've realized that my mind comes up with about a million thoughts and my heart a million emotions a day. So I've chosen to jot them all down here in poems or short free-style stuff. It's nothing special really, just a way for me to vent and clear my...
