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C'est la vie,
That's life
But is life worth living when all that's left is an ashen dead tree?
A tree once called the tree of life, now cut with a drawknife.
Its precious ichor bleeding into the unspoken,
slowly dying as it sits, knowing its situation
but able to do nothing, because while its alive, nature has made it broken.
For it is rooted to the spot, unable to help itself, just sitting and waiting for its cremation
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I JUST FREAKING LOVE POETIC POETRY AND THIS IS FREAKING POETIC. I WANT MY POETRY TO SOUND LIKE THIS, CAN I HAVE YOUR POETRY
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