pine tree

i wrote this a year ago it is kind about people and my self sorry im a millennial im automatically narcissistic i wanted to talk about how pepole push there ideas on to others story for a difernt time

The pine is the first of the trees to grow after a forest has bean cleared. Its roots will take hold in the richest of the top loam, and in the most baron of sands. It will grow on the beaches ware no other tree can live from the salt and the sand, and on top of rocky crags clinging to the mountain. It is prized for its ability to burn with a warmth and charisma few kinds of wood can match. It is the choice of the ship wright when building a strong ship that will withstand the gales of the open ocean. But there are no pines in the deciduous forest. The proud Oak and the beautiful Ash with its leaves so gorgeous that they must be stained grow around the pines and seek to bequest in the glow of the eye of God. The pines die in this aired landscape that they afforded for them self’s the soil they made rich. Such is the nature and cycle of life.  

The Gale shuck with tremendous forces with no porpoises and no direction and all with the insistences of that truth which now no truth that no illumination of knowledge nor purpose. It ripped down from the north smelling with it pointless freedom. Pine stud tall in this Gale for to give is to break in the ferocity of the wind. There is a shocking power that can not be named nor understood in its winds. They run unfettered. They are without reason nor virtue, yet they are intangible they can not be left alone; they are and will be forever inescapable. Pine sawed in the force of that Gale. Giving bending compromising the world can be peaceful if we only if common ground can be found. Crack a limb began to brake bending in the wind twisting its self into the ever-changing image of something without form to all but that unamiable forces. Crack, and it broke, the Pines lime falling it the void. The Gale quiets for a second its winds ebb, and then again now from the northeast they blow once more. Fickle, unchanging, un-ebbing, and without rhyme or reason the move to their fancy secure in their forces as justification of their existences.  

Author's Note

please help me get better