The Bark

Thu, 03/05/2015 - 19:17 -- bcsmith


The cracks in your trunk chunk together a sort of pattern,

Slivers, bits, and little segments.

Brown-sap, Green-moss and dinky faces

Are seen in the brief slits.

It’s like a mystery.


Perhaps you do not perceive anything at all,

Simply protection, or type of skin-like thing.

One hundred years now you have grown

Seen the days pass by again.

Yet I see nothing.


Traipsing all over the world with nowhere set in dirt

I do not sit peaceful to grow

But move all about frantic up and down

In order to feel of use and have

A purpose, in this odd giant world.

This poem is about: 
Our world


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741