Little Do They Know
Cracks.
Young kids skip on and past the cracks for fear of breaking
Their mothers' backs.
Little do they know the cracks formed in the pavement of that old foundation
Is the broken glass of the past;
Of my past.
Formed on the idea that the past is but a memory
Not allowed to move on,
As my roots stay clenched to the depths of the Earth.
Trying to move and transplant to a different soil
The roots cannot be moved
The tree itself cannot be changed.
The tree didn't start out this way.
Beginning to grow the leaves were bright
Roots were shallow
There were no cracks, only smooth pavement.
That changed.
The tree began growing.
Beautiful green leaves soon landed on the ground as they dried and turned into the crunchy objects kids stepped on for fun.
Storms kept coming and the rains continuously swayed the tree left and right
Left and right
Left and right.
Thunderstorms broke branches and civilians chopped away flourishing growth
It was never enough.
But the tree stayed.
Despite the storms that stole the leaves from all of the tree's being
Despite the tumultuous overgrowth of the tree from it's kind
The tree stayed until it could stay no more.
The cracks in those sidewalk blocks instantly became a playground for kids.
The broken pieces of that tree became toys kids brought home to their parents to talk about and made up stories with.
Unused parts of the tree were thrown away.
Little do they know that the tree is me.
Little do they know that as they skip those cracks in that sidewalk they are stepping over the broken parts of my soul.
Little do they know that the broken branches they use as swords in their games are the lost limbs of the battles I fought.
Little do they know that the leaves that crunch beneath their boots are unspoken words no one ever wanted to hear.
Little do they know.
Little does anyone really know...