Prision

My body is a Prison with one cell.
The birds outside fly by, the seasons change while shadows grow,
The leaves fall withered and beaten by another relentless year.
The Tree bends in the Sun and wind, yet stands ever present and wise.
My window is a gateway to what is and what was.
As I thrive inside I'm always reminded life is different outside.
I try to do my time contently but it's a life sentence without parole.
Yet the Tree stands, noble and strong.
Seasons come and go wind blows and blows,
Yet the Tree stands silent and proud.

Reviews

[Emily Filkins]

good job