There’s a problem
We all have them
Some one, two, a few
Yet we cut branches, praying the tree heals
Without ever nurturing the roots
That drive miles into the unseen
Twisted and tangled into streams
That feed from large bodies of unclean
Like all living organisms this tree thirsts and fiends
For a life giving source
Yet we abort when the work seems to be not worth the work
Well, at least doth this tree
Its not as tall as it should be
Sayeth those that have gazed upon thee
The tree
It should be so much wider with far more leaves
Every ring in its body screams loudly
When they proudly butcher what they have no knowledge of
It does not cast off enough shade when the sun hangs tilted
Confusing its rays
So if the sun has no knowledge of the direction of its own cast light
Why is the tree to blame for not protecting ones sight
So yet another branch becomes a conquest
Seemingly simple to understand that more light this will manifest
Yet we blame the tree

Its just a tree
An inanimate object that lives and breathes
And grows
What was once a seed planted in rows has become a towering fortress
But this tree needs to go
The shrubbery and weeds wrapped their way
The moss seems to have coddled from its place
I cut it down to a stump
yet it still stands here with no etching in its trunk
Semantics
Inanimate is this tree
But it still speaks to me
Calls to me with branches hung low offering to me
A lift up
It knows my name and everything about my past
In the dark forest of my path
This decrepit mass of sap and bark starts to provide the spark
That I need to see
In a direction I don’t need to go
This tree
At times is all that comforts me
Wooden soup for the soul
There’s a problem
We all have them
Some one, two, a few
Yet we cut branches, praying the tree heals
Without ever nurturing the roots