a poem i wrote in class

Trees

Voices dying, diminish to soft squeaky
noises, squawking, in the back-and-forth. Shout louder.
Brings me down, drags me
along the rough ground,
getting snagged along the way,
along the mind’s labyrinth
black hole agape—
But the voices fade and I am not there,
in the midst of them anymore.
Instead—
I fall back into myself,
a beautiful alone, a necessary escape;
The window pulls my gaze away from the frenzy.
it’s raining out, the trees of the oak look like spider’s legs, stretching black and long,
reaching for me.
Outside of this mess, all the mind’s work,
is peace, a still and quiet calm;
Trees standing strong, not fighting the rain;
The beauty of them speaks to me deep and
louder than all their words.
Suddenly, I am angry.
I have seen the trees so little.