Barren Branches

Bare trees without leaves or fruit
Hold no interest
Some enjoy messing about
The hollow branches
Pretending something is there
But I long to be amongst substance
I yearn to stop the pretending
The falsehood
I want things to be real
I have swung among the barren branches
Done my part in this game of fakery
I've matured beyond this
While all the others still play in those empty branches
None will come with me
None will seek out the fruits and the leaves
They are content in the illusion
How sad...
Or is it better to be content with the emptiness
Rather than search for what may never be found?