Look! Yonder tree,
disillusioned, and
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
Again, and
again, and
AGAIN!
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!
night, woeful,
night, moonstruck—
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,
isolated, and
yearning
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,
witless,
helpless, and
alone
Alone in the end
ALONE,
IN,
THE,
END!
’Tis old yonder tree
Yet,
I still see her beauty beneath disillusioned bark and ever striving roots, suffocating in mud
Roots ever waning,
twisting,
breaking, and
aching, to be set free