old tree

I look for meaning,

past decrepit buildings,

and dirty streets,

past faded friendships,

and twisted sheets,

but now I stand looking,

upon the old tree,

slowly dying,

years piled high,

still tall and free,

stop acting weird,

nothing's changed,

nothing's new,

between the "feeling good,"

and the "feeling blue,"

there's a build-up,

then a release,

then a straight line through.