Philosophical

With limbs drying
And the bark falling off
The tree stands with only the roots
Grasping to tainted soil.
Brown leaves rotting below
Give testament to once proud moments
When ideas were alive
And the leaves were green.

But slowly the vine circles,
 strangling the body;
 limbs begin to die
 and fall away.

The bark, sick and blackened
By the disease eating away the core
Starts to dry and give homes
To termites who mockingly accept.
And being tired to hang on
The tree falls over
In a forest alone
With no one to hear it.

Rotted Wood