Senescence
I'm a gnarly pine tree. Twisted! Stunted!
A melody-filled flute once, I'm mute now!
With nightmares of winter, I am haunted.
Twigs with dry leaves I see in every bough.
My floral gardens are grazed by cattle.
Cobras crawl into my wrecked house debris.
Why do I seem to lose my inner battle?
Why, often, from myself do I try to flee?
I still see tall mountains in the distance.
The Milky Way shines in all its brightness.
Souls undergo a renewed existence.
Nature seems to tend toward boundlessness.
My movements are moments of reflection
As my pilgrimage is towards perfection...
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