At times it seems hope is the enemy,
a fertile little seed hiding out in the corner.
No matter how many trees sprout from the seed
in time, each one is destroyed.
Yet a new tree will grow.

It is always the same tree,
but maybe with slightly different branches
or different colored leaves.
But the base is the same.
The roots still run deep,
grabbing hold of anything they can find.

And when the tree is destroyed,
the roots die too.
But they are still there,
coiling through the soil,
contaminating everything in reach
with a touch of death.

I guess that eventually
the trees will stop growing.
They won’t have a choice-
the soil will be ashes,
the roots will be tangled,
and the seed will have nothing to grow.

And that’s when a new seed will come along,
looking for someplace to blossom.
It will be a great seed,
a mighty seed,
the seed of a sturdy oak.
But where is it to grow?
Only ashes and tangled roots will remain.
All it can do is wither away.

What a waste of a mighty oak.