Trees can’t fly

How can I let go if I have nothing,
Nothing left to hold onto in this life?
The irony keeps my blood stream rushing
And I must choose between strife or the knife
So I can continue the rhyming scheme.
We are trees rooted in reality
Immovable, effortless, with no dream
But the outside is only what you see.
We must learn to become open like the birds
Who inevitably hold onto trees,
Speak when spoken to, honest in their words,
And go with the flow, flying in the breeze.
No matter if you are a bird or a tree
I relate to you, and you relate to me.


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