These trees.
These trees of red.
They tear me, scorn me, and weaken me
Wrapped in fences a thousand feet tall.
Their thorns laced in the very essence of envy, soil my soul
My blood stains the trees crimson.
But I look toward the sun
to the day when it will all be okay.
For these trees won’t stand together forever
and when they part
I will be a bud from the definition of strength.
The trees, singularly, are just twigs
They will only ever be crimson stained twigs
And I will bloom



I love this poem!  Thanks so much for sharing it with 


Beautiful poem! I like the use of allusion and diction that you use in this poem. It really does draw the reader into the speaker's sight and mind. Keep writing on my friend!


The weak can only grow stronger

While the strong will never change.

They will look up one day,

To see us rising over them.

We will fly. Then, they will regret

Calling us Weaklings.

Then, because they need our help, our mercy.

And we will show them kindness--

We will not be like they were.

The weak will one day be the strongest of all.

You have captured it--

One day, yes,

We will bloom.


This poem is very beautiful I can picture this scene and thank you for describing it




This is wonderful! Very relatable. Love the metaphor.


I love your choice of words. Very amazing poem.

Jan Wienen


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