The Trees that Lie

The trees once told me that life was not real,
That it would never end because it had never begun.
I shook my head and ignored them, passing haughtily from beneath their withered boughs.
It is times past and I look back on those trees from my giant metal box,
they bend slightly in an invisible breeze that I cannot feel behind this sheet of reality.
I wonder if they had been right and if I had listened to them, would I not be so sad as I am now?
So I make the decision. I open the door and walk slowly towards their branches, each one like a slender knotted finger, gently coaxing me forwards.
And I reach their silent trunks and I stare up into their twisted limbs and I want.
They will not surrender their wisdom to me so easily; I ignored them once and I recognise this as punishment. So I sit at their feet and I close my eyes and I wait as they had once waited for me.
I feel a shift in the wind; my face is tickled by formless fingers, my eyes flutter open.
I gaze upwards at the trees and my eyes are filled, they drink in the beautiful sights and I know at once they had never lied.
And I know at once.