The Trees Don’t Grow


I sit here, looking out the window.
And I realize that the trees don't grow.
Maybe we don't either.
Maybe people only change for the worse.
Maybe it is all for nothing.
Maybe there is no point.
But since we're here, since we're in this room,
and since there are musicians, let's sing.
There doesn't have to be a point.
Let's fill the room with off-tune choruses of
"We don't get it."
Because we don't, and we probably never will.
Let us not dwell on what could have been,
but rather dance about what may be.
Let us not let this abyss scare us.
Don't let oblivion terrify you.
Ignore it.
We are here, right here, right now.
So sing, jump, dance, swing from the chandeliers,
because someone wrote that song already.
Maybe it's time that we
write our own.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem