Hurricane of Life: A Poem

No not the tree of oak or maple

But rather the tree of man, for every man is a tree

His branches grow as age comes and then they grow fragile

Overtime the twigs and leaves intertwine with others of his kind

And form a never-ending lattice of life.

Though my tree lives in ruins

My boughs, though once hung with fruits and friends,

Now lie at my roots, snapped and twisted by the winds of fate

My limbs, once strong and supple to the vicious winds

Have severed, leaving me without balance

My roots have been eaten from below by unknown demons

I fear the next wind will find me overthrown, prone

Unable to cope with this hurricane of life