I feel like I am a tree rooted in my spot amidst the seasons; the seasons forever changing around me but I go nowhere. The same cycle, the same routine, with changes so little that they barely even matter. They come. They go. I go nowhere. I do nothing. But I am still a matter of time & time has a way of eating away at me. Though I have many years it takes them all away; it grabs and it grabs at my years which move slowly like a painful poison then speedily like it's running out. Through me I see everyone pass me by as I watch them--rooted in my spot--wise and old and grave--to know all the stories--to know all of everything--but, without a mouth, I have no say. I am rooted on a sturdy foundation; I cannot move; I cannot go anywhere... The wind blows upon me; it rustles me, it moves me yet, save some swaying, I remain here... Always & Alone... I have leaves but I cannot leave. I stand tall but, my leaves, they fall... I am a tree... What is my purpose? It must not be for me. *~_~)
Originally written in my iPod's notes on March 29, 2011 Tues 5am © Kayla Napua Kong
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