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