My young self witnessed something new
but could not make of the source it grew
for the activity I saw in that old broken house
was nothing of what I knew

The trees were crooked, bent, and broken
almost like the souls of the dead have spoken
to the dying, woeful branches of the tree
and then it spoke to me

I am not the dead man
of whom you think me to be
I am the homeowner,
and I'd like you to leave

Quick as a flash, I was gone from that place
looking back, it was an empty space
what was it? I thought of what I'd seen
I awoke, then realized,
it was but a dream

I am a young 14 year old male that likes to write poetry.

Last updated March 12, 2012