when my time arrives,
and my body dies,
i want my ashes in the roots of a tree
and in a hundred years or so,
when my souls no longer cold
i will grow into a home
i could house a tire swing, of a young girl.
i could be the place of her first kiss, underneath my leaves
the shade of a sunset,
and a still autumn breeze
but time passes as i live in the hollow of an oak tree
every branch contains a piece of me
and i hope that young girl sits on the branch that contains my poetry
and as she grows to understand,
she slowly becomes a man
and in my tree he sits
the slow soul of a poet
on his tire swing
he will feel things for the sky,
and the sun and the stars
he will live in his humble home of a tree
and maybe then he'll know
hes a lot like me
YOU ARE READING
some questions id ask my creator about the sun the moon and my place in between
Poetrysome poetry. some common themes are, DID (dissociative identity disorder, the spilt in someones identity which causes them to alter between multiple other identities. more formal term for multiple personalities.) religion (i am not religious, the ma...
