By J Ann Crowder
Look! Yonder tree,
perplexing in her masked beauty
Her, plight mangled by dotty roads
’Tis an expanding snare, growing stiff whilst plunging her blind into a pothole’s abyss
Placing her on a bed of sandpaper; a cage embodied by her mind’s ever winding grip
Becoming an unsound state of being, swallowing her whole with gaping jaws of unknowing, slumbering nights
A loathsome NIGHTMARE!
Like potholes madly driven
She, writhes inside their daft air
Stuck in a box that can only be open from the outside
Such is yonder tree,
Wanting to break free from frozen, cracked mud pressing her roots
She, grows old and mad as a mad—'MAD HATTER'
Upon ever winding days she spins madly,
Alone in the end
’Tis old yonder tree
I still see her beauty beneath disillusioned bark and ever striving roots, suffocating in mud
Roots ever waning,
aching, to be set free
Dedicated to those who suffer from mental illness. Written May 31st, 2016.