The Footprints of time.
Black trees on a burnt grey sky,
Always observing, they are the dark footprints of time.
Stretching back to when the earth was not, and leaning forward still.
Dying slowly, so it seems they don’t die at all.
A constant of forever is what they seem to our brief grasp of time.
Going thru all, yet experiencing what?
They give us life, the unknowing guardians of our world.
They seem to shout into the rainy wind and keep themselves silent in the calm shadowy light of winter,
Even though they are silence themselves.
With leaves ever-changing, even the constant trees move with time.
The branches grab the clouds and pull the weather down,
Roots slowly penetrate manmade ground.
Slowly recovering the land once theirs,
Because they can wait longer,
Far longer than we ever can.