You see me a
bent shaking form that sways, unmoving and rigid.
My thoughts
uncertain from the fog that clouds the day.
You cannot see
my smile or my joy, my frown or my rage.
You cannot
see it because of the silent features, a mask, now my face.
You see me
and you stare. The reflection in your eyes paints the picture,
And you
think that life sometimes is not fair.
I am not a
landscape of autumn turned to fall, a tree that has no leaves;
Whose branches
are broken, alone, no forest to be seen.
What you cannot
see is what is inside of me,
A will that
is evergreen.
I know that
spring is coming, so for now I must stand tall.
I know the wind
will bend me. I know my leaves will fall.
My will
never broken, for winter will one day thaw.
What you
could not see inside of me is a great and beautiful tree,
And all the trees
around me, all the trees like me.
Standing
together, a forest now you see.
That picture
that you painted, that picture is not me.
I am Pat Younts, and I Move to Live.
