A writer for ten years with. a severe case of wanderlust. She spends most her time with her head in the clouds.

Old and wise, gnarled by age

Blow in the wind, and calm thy rage

Mourn the passing of yet another day

And weep because things will never change

Standing proud, with unwavering beauty

True to thyself, with roots planted firmly

Knowledge unspoken

Vows unbroken

Limbs stretched, reaching toward the sky

No reason to be insecure, no reason to be shy

Watching the world unfold in all its glory -never a word

The secrets of life are kept safely inside- never to be heard

The sunset can be seen through those dancing leaves,

As the sky turns purple, orange, and pink

Steadfast you stand, upright you will stay

Because there truly is no other way

As the day passes into the still of night

And the moons glow is the only light

We look up in wonder- yet never see

The world as it was meant to be

I am not sure why, but I have always been fascinated by trees. I feel almost drawn to them, like there is some sort of connection there. When I am stressed, and nothing else helps, out to the woods, I go. In the quiet of the woods, with no one else around, I find my peace, clarity, and perspective. I have oftentimes even wondered if maybe, the trees held some sort of ancient, unknown deity.
When I wrote this poem, I was still with my mentally abusive ex husband. I was miserable, and had absolutely no, confidence in myself. Unbeknownst to me, I had started some sort reawakening process. I was too leave him, less than a year after writing this. I remember, sitting outside, at his parents house, just trying to get through the day. I was upset about something, and wanted to be alone.
So I grabbed my notebook, and sat outside, in glorious silence. I remember looking up and noticing this huge, old oak tree. I was taken aback with it's beauty and strength. I noticed qualities, in this ancient tree, I could only wish to see in myself. So I put pen to paper, and this is what I came up with. It is still, to this day, one of my favorite poems, I have written.

© 2019 Lisa Chronister