I am a tree.
Forty-eight rings mark what is my life’s work, my strife, all I can say I’ve done.
At night there is a rustle amongst those who live in my branches.
They shake my leaves and wake me.
Rest- I’d cry for it if I could.
The night is dark, filled up to the brim with fear- excruciating fear.
Horror- I’d run if I could.
My roots cripple me in the darkness of the forest.
The wind carries a chill, a distant howl, a ringing bell
I hear it all.
I see it all, I do.
Just when I think it will never end,
precisely when I determine that I cannot take one more moment-
Breaking over the border of the places I’ve never been and the places I’ll never go.
A light! Oh, a beautiful, magnificent light.
A new morning.
One that, even in my darkest hour I never once forgot.
A new morning that is good and pure.
I am just a tree.
48 rings mark who I am.
I’ve seen a lot of life in these years.
I still fear the night,
but I do not lose faith in the light.