If an Oak Tree Falls

I am an oak tree

Proud, fierce against the sky

From all outward appearances I stand tall

Rising high above the ground

Mighty in spite of the odds

Cold winter storms

The springtime rains

I sway with the movements of the air

Change colors as the seasons come and go

I look sturdy, rugged even

A symbol of strength and longevity

You cannot tell my age

Unless you cut me down

Count the rings inside

You think I am stable

That my roots run deep

But my roots are merely tiny filaments

Stretching out just below the surface

Holding on to the earth like threads

They are not anchors to keep me steady

Only fibers like webs

Beneath my rough exterior, my thick skin crumbles

As you peel away the bark

If the ground is saturated with rain and tears

I will stumble and topple from a brutal wind

I lay flat against the grass and dirt

Immobile 

I am only a living thing

Not a monument or a citadel

I’m fragile as the leaves on my branches

My limbs break

My core falls apart

The center will not hold

I cannot stand up again 

And return to being a tree