Poetry for the soul

My favorite writing medium is poetry. I’ve been writing decent poetry since my teenage years. It’s how my soul speaks, in rhyme.


Contemplating the world around me/Nobody really sees what I see/Who am I to judge the weary/Those with no sense of urgency/Somehow it’s all redundancy/A vicious cycle, emotional truancy/This world is one big fallacy/Choking on a half contrived theory/These are the moments so downward and dreary


Spiraling downward, toward the depths of despair

No warning, no way to mentally prepare

My mind, varying stages of disrepair

I am here, but not entirely there

My gaze, a lifeless, empty stare

I can’t find it in myself to care

I want to scream that life’s not fair

But that won’t get me anywhere

And so I sit in this old, worn chair

Inside this darkness, broken, bare

Choking down this stifling air

With little to no sanity to spare


One day you’ll find yourself looking back, discovering the courage that you, at one point, lacked 

Destroying the hearts you swore you’d protect, when the truth is a concept you’ve sworn to reject


Tree Song:

Today I decided to talk to the trees/This time they decided to talk back with me/There were no words, just silent repose/For how long I stood there, there’s no way to know/A scene unfolded, an enactment of grace/I stood there and watched, falling tears on my face/A child so sweet, so young and so bare/Reaching her hands up to a mother not there/Fingertips grazing the knobby branches of the other/Wanting and hoping, wishing for a real mother/A breeze picks up, changing this tender scene/To a small weary figure, a young girl in her teens/Abused and neglected, battered and bruised/She turns to a parent, but winds up being used/The trees move again, this time with more vigor/Now the young, small tree spirit has grown so much bigger/Looking down toward the smaller, almost lifeless tree/She realizes who she was meant to be/No longer would anything stunt her growth/She stretched toward the heavens with a grave, solemn oath/The lifeless tree was the mother who ached/For the child she’d hurt, with so many mistakes/Now her child was bigger and smarter and wiser/She wanted to hold down her daughter beside her/Through the agony, the misery, with little remorse/But as things always do, life takes it’s course/The trees felt the wind and spoke to me once more/In scenery that cut me right down to the core/A cluster of branches move in closer and tighter/Protecting the youngster, making her a fighter/They said to her, “Keep on growing, we’ve got this now”/And they protect the feeble mother, someway, somehow/Shadows shift as fingertips struggle to hang on/It’s never easy to let go when you’ve been holding on so long/Somewhere in the darkness a whisper comfort gives/Freedom springs eternal, the young survivor lives/She’ll never stay the feeble tree, as her mother’d always hoped/But she stuck it out, she persevered, she somehow even coped/Today I decided to listen to the trees/This time they told me that it’s okay to be free.


Tree spirits speak silently, speak quietly, but if you listen, a story can be revealed...

Tree spirits speak silently, speak quietly, but if you listen, a story can be revealed…


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