By Scott Bailey © 2026
Like a tree,
I will not move
Though the fire
rages on
Roots are deep,
branches high
Rising high
beneath the sky
Like a stone,
from past ages
Weathered smooth
by the rain
Storms will come
and they’ll go
While I watch,
sure and slow
Like the earth
and the sky
I watch
and I
wonder why
You descend
into ire
To welcome
your own pyre
In response to malformed_poetry’s prompt
https://www.threads.com/@malformed_poetry/post/DTk1DAjEQNh?xmt=AQF0d0AXis9gMGC_TQP9fW9jXMRZCeufWNBLvdaHMcH51zY0xd9KAqdXDjR_XkMARSW4V_g&slof=1
