Broken

Left lying on the floor like a fallen leaf in the mist of winter
The cold bitter wind blowing it around the park as I walk like I don/t exist down the endless path of life.

The motion of the people in the streets walk like they have a purpose somewhere important to be so much like the waves that never seem to halt crashing at the shore.

At the shore there are children playing their laughter filling the air then comes the crashing tremble of the thunder that drowns out all laughs of happiness leaving only darkness and damp in its wake.

In the darkness stands the shadow of the broken tree cracked and damaged by the storm/s wrath the scars are present on its arms which lay open to the sky awaiting the next storm but yet it still stands strong.

The lonely path of life with many winding bumping roads. Which one to take the one with the crows and vultures or the one with the angel that has the halo of pure gold?
The false dream or the hard truth which world would you exists in?

This was the first descriptive poem i have done so its not the best