It isn’t for me,
It’s become plain to see.
Never was, never will be—
This world, from land to sea.
So, hear this, my fever plea,
Pitched out—flying free—
Even if we don’t agree,
I’m gone—gone—see?
I’m no rooted tree.
It’s plain to see,
It isn’t for me.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, January 17, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: January 17th, 2026 09:07
- Comment from author about the poem: Necromancy Sublime is now officially out and available on all major (and most minor) streaming platforms. Along with Crucible, it’s part of Dark Alchemy, my forthcoming album under the project name TragicLife. Listen wherever you stream: https://open.spotify.com/track/1hq7j8OZjye2P3zATczSWT?si=76c3f8a716e64ce3
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments2
Often wondered if it would be better if we were all rooted. We would have our place know our neighbors and family. Not have to worry so much about change but then we would not be able to travel see new things and heaven forbid that there be a fire or flood unable to save ourselves or help others. A most interesting piece my friend. Nicely done
It's not for me / us, Popeye. The spinach, I mean! lol.
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