The Old Broad Tree That Weeps For Me

Drinking in the morning light,
aren't I lucky just to be alive?
Breathing in the fresh cool air,
no moment can be left to spare;
for the grass will wilt,
and the sky turn gray,
and I will be forced to turn away.
But for now I will sit under the tree,
the old broad tree, that weeps for me.
Perhaps I will think, of all the wrongs,
the wrongs that have been done to me.
Or perhaps allow the sun to cast
its ray of warmth into my wrath,
and warm a heart as cold as ice,
so I may again do what's right.
Do not worry, do not flee,
this is not who I am yet to be.
Give me space, and give me time
One day, I might get back what's mine.
But until then, please
allow me to sit under this tree,
the old broad tree, that weeps for me.
If you like, you can sit,
next to me, for a little bit.
I will share with you,
the thoughts in my mind,
clogging reality,
making me blind..
There is nothing as bold,
as truthfully told,
as the ache for a life to end.
There is nothing as wrong,
as the time so long,
ticking along its way.
There is nothing as numbing,
as the pain that keeps coming,
when it's allowed to come in.
And all my cries,
drowned in slippery lies,
were caught in a shiny, round web.
Do you understand,
the depths of these tears?
As lost as the soul who fears?
I cannot make it all alright,
but I can promise that I will try.
It is time again to retreat inside,
I can only take so much this time.
But perhaps the light can bring much more,
than what the darkness has in store.


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