Strangely Strong

The trees are bare,
their leaves stripped by honest winds,
their naked arms vulnerable
against the sky.

There is no hiding.
Even from a distance strangers can see
the scarred earth, the fissures
in your perfection,

the truth
that always was.

It is beautiful, this truth,
raw perhaps,
uneven, weeping with pain,
rugged,

and strangely strong.

About this poem.

People, when they stop and bother to look, and think, see more of us than we realize. That is not a bad thing, but at times, it may be an unsettling truth.

The amazing thing? Those who love us, love us anyway.

Tom