Old Trees

The value of uselessness

The scruffy old tree struggles to stay upright and alive
We regard each other, separated by a few yards of green,

Both have known full lives, though now bent and twisted
Having no point, we reach for the sky, freed from hope

The pine not moving – I fearing to stop, both existing long.
As useless and aged, the value of lacking importance is clear

Wood too bent for any use is now a never-assailed fortress
Now knowing pointlessness, I ponder all of ego’s old battles.

Saying nothing, that old tree told me all I needed to know
The truth of real beauty shone from us in that kindred moment

Outcomes are the plaything of small souls; only living has meaning
At the end, it is the most useless that have touched the universe.