Dead Winter

They wanna say that I feel dead inside; I’m no more dead than that tree in the yard. The one with no color, no sense of direction The one left abandoned, the one by the road. The one that kept growing, though nobody liked it – The one that kept living, through all of the torture. As weird as it sounds, I kind of admire it, that tree. Every year, it falls down. Nature kicks it, beats it, leaves it left for dead. Every year its covered by the ashes of the past year, And like the phoenix, rises every year for another beating. I know I said I was like the tree, but I’m not. That tree is strong, noble even. Standing tall in the realm of undead, it’s a symbol, A beacon that there is something beyond the darkness, Beyond the barren, beyond the white…