Old Tree Eyes.

The web of life weaves a satirical and obscure pattern,
Often misshapen and distorted to our dislike.
Neither a ray nor a line but a segment of hills
That in the end will stop to kill.

Amidst this web of ups and downs
Sometimes comes a phenomena that often profounds.
Winter wished it had a friend
and autumn wished its very end.
Time stopped just as it was about to breathe
and allowed the blissful to slowly weep.

I am a tree of many rings
but this is something even new for me.
I've seen the sunny nights,
and the moon during the day.
And I have even felt nature wither and plunder to gray.
I've heard the sea howl words of wisdom through its waves ,
And guide the birds as to what they should say.

But Oh Mr.War, what have you done?
You say you don't feel and it feels great.
Oh Mr.War does this please?
Constructive and destructive as if it was a planned disease.

I have lived my life so modest and keen,
But out of all these spindles, webs and weaves:
The wretchedness of death,
the sound of cries,
the feeling of earth shake as bodies fall from the sky.

Oh my dear friends, what a misery to behold
but not for the heartless, the atrocious and cold.