Poetry

Arms Above, Feet Below

Trees are like arms
Reaching from the ground into the sky
Far above our heads they reach
But they will never touch the sun
Or the moon

For if they touched the sun, surely they would burn
And die
The goal they struggle and grieve to reach
Will be their undoing
Because wood burns

People are like feet
Always coming back to the ground
Though we soar and we sink
Our feet always come back
We stay here

But luckily our dreams do not kill us
At least not all of them
When we strive and succeed
Dreams do not die, but move on
And so do we

Life may end
And dreams can be crushed
But we’re still here
Our feet on the ground
And the arms reaching above

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