Bent Not Broken

When my tree of life was planted;

I started my journey into growth.

I thought it stood on solid soil, embedded deeply in the ground.

My tree was normal, or so I thought.

But whose reality was that?

My tree is grown; it touches sky.

On the outside, it looks so strong.

On the inside, it is empty, hollow, dead;

I don't know how it's grown at all.

I stand there disillusioned, stuck;

I think, what choices do I have?

Just chop it down, it can't be fixed; it will never have any life.

Standing with my axe in hand,

first I look towards the sky;

My tree is bent, not broken.

Each branch reaches out with weary limbs;

bare and ragged; weak but willing,

because there's still reason to hold on.

Filled with renewed strength and hope, I look downward to the base.

My tree had life, the base was green,

and climbing slowly, yet with force.

Saying "I'm bent, not broken; I'm not dead yet. Feed my roots so I can live."