Entangled Roots Poem by Tristian Ford

Entangled Roots

The apogee of my growth is dazzling to anyone's eye, I'm just another tree pointing to the sky.
Once Covered with Smooth, dark-gray bark, now after all this time of becoming fissured and scaly with age that only hurt when they turn brown, or winter over my stage.
Yet, my growth and beauty are on every viewer's first page.
The three-sided, rigid leaves scatter along my long shoots, and clustered dense tufts at the end of short spurs.
make on-lookers amazed at my favor, a maxim moment because I'm silenced by theirs.
For what seems eternity their beautiful eyes stare.

So I give the best advice, the best way I know how.

Pointing to the sky, in this, we should all avow.
Even if beauty is the only thing noticeable of one another as we look,
at least not one moment was wasted thinking about what it took.
It is nothing to many who pass by, until today, I never thought to ask why.

I even learned how to think and speak when this woman leaned on me and began to cry. I could feel the difference between her and I.

She murmured; ' is any suffering like the suffering that was inflicted on me? ' But there was no way for me to tell her the life of a tree.
As she walks away, I have no choice but to stay put.The places one would go, if I had one Foot.

She leaves behind a smell of melting chocolate mixed with fruits.
Moving onwards with not one thought of my Entangled roots.

The nadir of suffering is somewhere we all must go.

Hoping we understand why the knowledge of good and evil was something He didn't want us to know.
The Knowledge we need in both cases is over our heads. To define the kind of intelligence it takes to make alive, what had become dead.
How do we all manage to adapt to all kinds of climates?
How we die, yet live again, deterioration by way of sin.
The mind continues to learn and adapt despite pain, anxieties, and fears, It would be an immense help to give the purpose to her tears. I've wandered about the transmogrification of these walking, talking beings for years.

They all look different but have the same hoots.

No matter the uncertainty of these pursuits, eventually, we'll understand, Entangled Roots.
-Tristian Ford

What is unseen can be felt
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