A Lonely Tree Poem by chris ryder

On a lonesome hill stands a lonesome tree,
the last survivor of a terrible struggle,
his brothers and sisters
burden the ground around him,
black and scorched,
destroyed to almost perfect vitrification,
his burnt fingers leafless daunting in height,
reach up for the sky clawing, at an invisible enemy,
a pair of doves fly high above,
symbols of peace and harmony,
to late for one such as he,
all his comrades lie motionless
he badly wounded
wanting to be free,
to fly upon the cool easterly breeze,
jealousy tears into the tree it wants to be free it wants to scream,
it wants to feel the breeze
and to soar on the currents,
but in the end
it dies.