POEM - Becoming The Tree

I. Seed

I was a whisper in the wind’s palm,

a husk of what if, clinging to the soil’s hem.

The earth said, Dig deeper than your doubt,

so I split myself open—

let the rain rewrite me into something

that could ache toward the light.

II. Sapling

Bent, but unbroken,

I learned the grammar of growth:

how to turn thirst into timber,

how to wear my scars as rings.

The storms came—

they always do—

and I swayed, not as surrender,

but as a language.

To bend is to remember

you are both anchor and dance.

III. Bark

I wove my skin thick,

a tapestry of patience.

Bugs scribbled their stories into me;

I let them.

The world tries to carve its name

into everything it touches—

but a tree knows:

scars are just how the light finds you

in new ways.

IV. Canopy

Then—the unthinkable joy

of casting shade.

Birds nested in my vowels;

children pinned their laughter

to my branches like ribbons.

I became a cathedral

for the wingless and weary.

To rise is not to tower,

but to turn your height

into a home.

V. Roots

Below, the dark hummed its hymn.

My fingers tangled with the dead,

with the mycelium’s slow, wise gossip.

I fed on decay,

on the quiet alchemy of rot.

This is the secret no one tells you:

you must learn to love

the parts of you

that work in the unseen.

VI. Forest

One day, I realized

I was no longer just a tree—

but a chorus.

My seeds rode the wind’s hips;

my dead leaves nursed new soil.

Even my falling was a kind of flying.

To become is to belong

to something older than your own becoming.

Short Summary:

"Becoming The Tree" traces the metamorphosis of the self through the metaphor of a tree’s life—from fragile seed to rooted elder. It explores resilience as an act of surrender and strength, the beauty of scars, and the paradox that true growth requires both reaching skyward and embracing the dark. The poem culminates in the realization that to "become" is to transcend the self, intertwining with the world’s cyclical wisdom. Like a tree, we are both solitary and communal, temporary and eternal, shaped as much by storms as by stillness.Short