I am a tree adrift in the sea
This isn't where I'm meant to be
The salt water is dark and cold
With nothing that my roots can hold
I wither, soft and slow by day
And mourning as my leaves decay
I am a tree where trees don't live
The things I need, the sea can't give
I cannot live, I cannot breathe
I cannot dream, I cannot sleep
Who am I, except to be so hopelessly adrift?
Has it really come to this?
Salt chokes the life out of my crown
And tempests rage to pull me down
Beneath the waves, where light can't reach
Where not a single root can breach
I am a tree, and trees don't lie
But trees do die; and so, it seems, shall I
YOU ARE READING
Inkblood Poetry
PoetryPoetry is the most efficient way for me to express things, even when I can't define it in a way that makes sense. And I think that's the beautiful thing about it - that poetry doesn't even need to be defined. It just exists.
