Prose and poetry

wings

What ?

What am I hearing ?

My life has value,

But tell me, who are you ?

What are you bringing ?

In this almost dead brain,

where nothing is certain,

You are adding more hope,

And keeping me with a rope.

Tied with destiny,

With no escape from here,

Tied to a dead tree,

I can't even try to leave.

Everyone has a tree,

And that tree is flourishing,

In your life with certainty,

Fruits of wealth will be giving.

I am tied to my dead roots,

I will die with holed boots,

So poor I can't even,

Try to buy new shoes...

My bleeding feet on this ground,

My brain thinking about escape,

Will my blood resurrect this tree of thousand pounds,

Or will I hide below a cape of never-ending crying sounds,

Where I can only relate to myself for help and life, or live under my madness's wings...