Trees

There they stand.
Countless seasons have passed.
Winters long and cold.
Summers hot and dry.
Flood, drought, fire.
All have passed them by and left them.
Not untouched, not unscarred.
They all bear the marks of each and every season.
But strong.
Standing there still.
Forging ahead through all trials.

There were trees, once.
Trees that lacked strength.
Fought against the seasons, fought hard and long.
Lost the battle.
We cannot fault them.
But they have not survived.

Some people fight hard.
Against all that oppose them, strong battles.
They fail, and fall, and are left.
Nothing more than memories.

Some people do not fight.
They allow all to pass over.
Content with hiding and avoiding harm.
They fail, and fall, and are left.
No one remembers them.

Then there are those, those few.
Who stand like the trees, enduring.
They do not allow injustice to pass.
They bear the scars and wounds of their battles.
Yet stand tall and proud.