Poetry Post

Arbor Dreams

I am trapped
No, rooted; bound
By the elements of
Concrete and soil.

The wind rustles me,
My limbs resist, though
I yearn to stretch
And sometimes yield.

I am shade.
I am home.
I am the bearer of
Hearts and intials.

The years appear in rings.
I flake and splinter, slowly,
Slowly climbing until
The sun and I are one.