The Marionette

The wind howls across the plain
Buffeting all the trees equally
Branches sway in odd disdain
Leaves flutter ceaselessly

The branch is battered
Bombarded by a force that won’t, can’t stop
The limb’s are scattered, membranes shattered
Twisting, bucking, like an abused stage prop

Like a demented marionette

It tries to return to its original
form, where it is content
The wind, it seems, is invincible
Against its will, the branch is bent

Breaks in the wind are short and deceiving
For the wind never truly ends
A still state, the branch is grieving
Craving a chance to undo its bends

They say that it will grow stronger
Because it keeps enduring the wind
Branches could always go on longer
Invincible, trees strength is always unfeigned

But what they do not foresee
Is the breaking, splintering crack
The branch gives way, finally free
Of the wind that pushed it back

Falling to the ground, it gives way
Discarded like a broken toy
No more in the wind will it play
Tortured by a game it would never enjoy

The wind stops, why, no one knows
Spruce, Birch, Pine, and Oak
All of the branches blossom, grow
Except for the Marionette that broke

This poem is about: 
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