Like the tree, I'm protected with my solid shell, strong
enough to prevent me from feeling a kind touch, yet too weak
to protect me from bleeding when I'm stabbed right through.
My ambitions, much like it's branches, reaching for the
skies, never to succeed, never reaching my desired goal.
Children and adults alike climb and play on my branches,
ocassionally breaking an ambition, leaving it on the ground
to be removed by the wind of time and forgotten things. Much
like me, the tree roots itself to the ground, to the
physical, but cannot live without the its leaves, its
flowers, the fruits of my thoughts and desires. And I
wonder, if in years to come, will the adults and childrens
who used to come will look at where I once stood and enjoy
the forest of trees that my branches' fruits seeded; Or will
they just see an ugly stump and remove that too.