I inspire, I suppose.

One of my close friend, somehow always finds inspiration in me, even when he is not looking. I don't know the why and/or how, but he always does. This is one of the many poems he has dedicated and wrote after spending time.

Arboreal

At our birth,

we are but seeds within the earth,

with tendrils of hope

that spread 

and seek

In our youth,

we are but sheets,

feeble

yet, tenacious

embracing the tumult of nature

and humanity

in our prime

we are the essence of time,

we are constant and inconsistent

yet

the epitome of

circumstance

when we are old,

it is wisdom we hole,

in the grasp of old bark and skin

hinting at the knowledge

and

days within

for a thing of age,

is but battered sage,

and a thing of youth

is a simple truth

and a thing of life

is but a guard of strife

the bastion of hope

retained like so many 

precious drops of water
By Chris Mullins