#178-Wooden reflections
25/01/2018
Tree trunk: “What do you see?”
Me: “An old piece of wood.”
Tree trunk: “Not very imaginative this morning, are we?”
Me: “Guess not. Any ideas?”
Tree trunk: “Pretend you’re me. What do I feel?”
Grey lines and cracks,
Nature’s imprint,
Of days passing by.
Memories wound in circles,
Ignored, decaying emotions.
Old, splintered, and bruised,
I’m still beautiful.
I don’t need a mirror to see.
The circles in me speak.
I listen, and believe.
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