Monday, December 28, 2009

Keys of the Past


I stand with sand swirling about my feet.
The roads ahead of me are disappearing before my eyes.
Tree roots are left bare.
Ugly, these trees are.
Their branches seem to penetrate and violate the surrounding air.
The roots grab and hold the soil.
Hostage?
No.
The soil is merely performing a selfness act.
Donating?
Of course.
How many of us can say the same thing?
How many of us sacrifice our life's purpose for the 'ugly trees' among us?
Or for a being so self-dependent?
I stand with sand swirling about my feet.
The roads ahead of me are disappearing before my eyes.
Tree roots are left bare.
Brave, these trees are.

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