Untitiled

From what could have been as small as button, To what became an epic piece of nature; A symbol of life. Risen from the ground, reaching out to the empty skies, In which all you see is clouds and the different colors of the 'wind' through it's time being. Soiled with lies, watered with sorrow, growing through hopes of it's days of tomorrow. And what is left hanging tortures or be. And what is washed away, live and let die. This is no regular tree. Nor bush, nor plant, nor flower. Rather a myth, but not a fantasy; Of a living creature, trying to reach the sky. A failed attempt of mother nature to make one of from what I see atrocious world and it's bewildered creatures. An uprising power; a dead rooted tree; a witness of time; an immortal.