I did not complain
Am I not at least allowed to state my case
But with you there is no use
You are both silent and noisily blind to your abuse
True, my branches reach out and spread
But you know they are not for you, but the sun instead
And you snatch my seed and send it away
So I stand alone, when around me a forest could have grown
Yes, I will pass and thankfully too
But while here I am rooted and real
I give scent and colour and fruit
I hold the earth in place to keep the soil from your theft
I protect and warm the small things within me
And you moving void only take
But cannot even hold
And let drop, someplace else
Tho discussing any form of 'art' is alien, I think I should say that this series is not saying anything about me or using metaphor. The first part wrote itself in a dream, and the following just followed, make/take of it what you will. I feel stupidly that actually it is a conversation with very little to do with me.
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