- Books, Literature, and Writing
Only time will tell
I was an oak, a tree in the wood
Solid and singular, rooted I stood
No wind, nor rain nor thunderous night
could move me from my place of right.
A lesser tree or bush, moves, bends, and bows to the strength of natures might,
I was so right, my core shook and cracked, as I continued to fight.
I was fallen within a fortnight of this blustery fit
suddenly I wished I was flexible, not solid, now split
Undreamed of this happening, this miserable plight
One reality becomes clear- bend a little before standing to fight.
Another thought it comes to mind, I'm not as quiet as you may find,
The screaming starts within my mind,
She knows to read between the lines.
She speaks Not a word for days at a time, my screams my only conversation
The outside of me looks like an oak,
I fear this depiction is a joke,
solid and stable, ha, that ain't me
More like a wild fire, incarnate instability.
There are two perspectives to be seen- one jagged and edgey, the other plain and serene
I balance the two most days at best, but when the beast arrives is anyone's guess.
So...that leaves the screamin inside the only thing that I am able to hide... for when the beast rares its nasty head..... there's no forgiveness that it can be fed.