What must it be like
To have no cares in the world
Besides survival and offspring.
And the search for immortality
As an oak tree?
No bills, no rent, no groceries
No cooking, no philosophies
But also, no reading, no laughter,
No movies, no music, no joy
No video games, no pets,
No hugs, no kisses.
But there’s storms,
There’s droughts and floods.
No mouth; loneliness.
Progeny; but it’s acorns.
There’s growth, reaching for the heavens,
But instead of using rockets to touch the stars,
Your limbs grow crooked as if to mimic lightning
And you’re draped all over with Spanish moss for vanity
And your roots knot deep in the earth,
Clinging to life.
Stuck in the moment,
Only caring for the immediate,
But built to last,
Sempiternal, alone.