Worn Out Tree Poem by Novice Writer
Worn Out Tree
I'm not who I once was;
I am becoming a tree,
a tree with nothing but flowers beside me,
a tree with no emotions and senses,
watching my fellow slowly wither away.
A tree who sees everything,
from the wickedness of my fellow
and their corrupted mind,
losing hope in my own kin.
Feeling the passing breeze,
I wait for the day until
the last leaf falls off the ground
and ends my suffering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/7/2024 8:47:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
