When the nights draw long
And the cold wind blows
The trees stand showing their bones
With icy draft that creep inside to chill what little warmth
Summers gone and spring but a dream of times so long ago
ancient tree that stands alone, battered and withered by years of strain
alone in a land now cold and hard
where once were others like its kind, now gone before it
the last leaf, clinging to its hold so close to the core
sucked away, as nothing, to fly to places the old bones cant go.
The last vestige of life. Where now there is non.
This poem could be about what ever some one wishes it to be. But the hidden meaning of this is that many transsexuals start out on this path at the same time. And as time passes, due to pressure, stress, depression or mental instability, they fall by the way side. This was inspired by two things.
An old statistic : 50% of transsexuals attempt suicide. 33% succeed.
And the number of times i have received a cry for help in the depth of the night and left a warm bed to drive hundreds of miles to offer comfort and aid.
