The Tree

A poem, about a tree. Enjoy.

Wasteland, the place I've known

 since I was just a young boy

with nothing more than one lone tree

which I have been sitting under for years.

 

Nothing grows on the tree.

No fruit, no flowers, and no leaves.

It gives no protection from the harsh weather,

or protection from anything at all.

 

So why I sit under the tree, you ask?

well why not, is my reply,

for it is the only good thing I've ever known,

or ever will know.

 

The tree, in the middle of this wasteland,

is my home, my family, my love.

This tree is where I spent my years

hiding from misery, behind nothing.

 

Some try to find me behind this tree

that gives no protection,

but they do not find me, they never have

and never will, not behind this tree.

 

I have many memories from this tree.

and all good memories

It is when I venture far from the tree

that I become scared, and alone.

 

I have ventured far many times,

every day I leave, in fact,

and these are the times I despise

and hope I will never see again.

 

  And though I do not want to

I see these times too often

and I cannot do anything

for they are set in stone.

 

 I want to go back when I am gone

for when I am away from the tree,

that gives no protection,

I feel cold.

 

And this is why I will stay

and disobey what others want.

I will stay by my tree

until the end of time.

 

I can live with just my tree,

and have no protection,

 I will remain hidden,

in the care of this tree.

 

And when I am older,

I will take the seeds from this tree,

the ones that I have never found,

and plant them.

 

I will plant them, all around this wasteland

to make a forest of trees,

that give no protection

and I will be hidden forever.

Author's Note

Please give me any feedback. Good? Bad? What could I improve?

Reviews

[wishystar]

This is a beautiful piece of writing! I can't wait to read more.

[Lorenzo Giardano]

Thank you! I will post more soon.