Ever Striving

I stumble soul destroyed
to the tree distant, up hill.
Far distant.  Teasing.  Waving.

It stands:  solitary, strong.
Its leaves should be soft,
its branches leading upwards.

But it stands,
always distant,
never closer.

The magpie, the robin, nestling.
Watching. Me.  The remainder.
Always distant.

Searching the depth of the horizon
rebuilding longingly
the scarred and wounded soul.