Huddled

A true poem of self-expression, and a necessary one right now.

Huddled

I once heard that a tree

doesn’t know it’s a tree,

doesn’t see its leaves of lies

floating down,
littering the ground

with its deception.

It doesn’t see its poisonous bark

sucking the life from the innocent

woodland creatures which feed on it,

or the upheaval and destruction

created by the prying,

far-reaching fingers of its roots.

And as the rain begins to fall harder,

the tree reaches out its arms

to shelter the plants beneath,

but they only shrink back

and venture out into the storm,

alone, but together.