Stuck. (a poem)

 



Stuck-

like a tree whose roots have sunk deeply

into the earth where it stood-

Unaffected by the gentle push of the wind,

who daily stopped by

to share its greetings.

How it longed to go, too, -the tree- like the wind-

roaming freely about

with no one to doubt

its reason.


How absurd a scene to watch a tree blow by,

or how wretched a sight

to see it float in the sky.

Ridiculous! for it to fly.


So, it remains

stuck.


Unable to move from the very spot it was planted.


All around it things changed.

People grew... cities, too.

It heard the laughter of children, 

cries of the needy,

the screeching tires of people in a hurry

to move, to go-


How it longed to go, too.

Speeding past the norm,

from the view that had bored it.


How foolish a thought...  A tree to drive down the road.

How ludicrous an idea to see it pick up and go,

wherever it chose.


So, it stood

stuck.


Firmly rooted in this place,

longing to be where it wasn't... 

anywhere it wasn't.

Some land where the hills were rolling,

where the mountains were showing.

A country whose culture it had yet to see.

Foods not yet smelled...

To be on a sea listening to an exaggerated seaman's tale.


How impossible a wish!

It could never be.

There's only ever one spot- just one spot-

for a tree.


So, it stood

stuck.


It watched the sunrise,

and viewed the moon

take ownership of the sky.

Stars would glisten and sometimes fall.

Clouds would form and slowly pass by.

Birds would land, nest, then fly away.

Time taught them when to leave, 

and when it was time, they'd go.


How it longed to go, too.

It would return, but oh!

to see an uncharted territory,

a place not found in a memory.

To hear the sound of Amazon rain!

But, insane!

it is to think such a thought.


A tree cannot travel. A tree cannot search.

A tree has big purpose, 

but only few can it serve.

It will remain in one place, rooted in the ground,

unless someone comes and cuts it down.

Its dependence rests on others around.

Unable to choose a course for itself, 

a path picked by another is all its allowed.

Anytime it moves it relies on a crowd

to get it where it's going.

No thought for itself.


It must remain

stuck.


Unless another deems it convenient to move it.

No changing, lest someone else sees fit.


So, it waits

stuck.


Needing someone else to come and deliver...

Someone else to free...


You blink your eyes twice; awake from this dream.

Then inhale... exhale... breathe in your reality.


Still in this season, no difference to claim.

This place that you're in is unsure and bleak,

and its where you'll remain.

Life rolls past you, opportunities kiss your cheek.

You feel a slight rush, you feel your excitement peak.

Fear holds you back, tightly in place,

unable to move or create your own way.


Waiting for assurance from those who will never give it,

You live it...

This life with such limits.


You must know! Open your eyes and see...


You, my friend.

You are not a tree.


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