In a land, cursed, with deadened peril
Asleep in scattered corpses, silent,
In their tainted armor of iron and gold;
Among boulders of pure stone—untouched--
Grew a tree. A tree unmoved by the hammering
Hammers of time, unshaken by the gushing fists
Of wind; and untouched by the brawling flame
That came by, past its leaves from a source unknown.
A tree; I once dwelt in.
For a time swollen with slow seconds I,
Dwelt there; swinging from its branches
Through loops of crippled days grounded;
To a halo of motherly love so eager to cradle
My dreams and, warped walks I often took
Through that old pondering abyss I call my mind.
I loved that tree, that genesis,
Of; all I think and speak,
Conceptualize and taste,
Pamper then crush.
The internally bound dwelling of me in that tree,
That, good old oak led for great a time,
Till’ a force, unbound by the very hands of fear,
Swept through the surrounding fields with a roar,
Compiled of a collective vote by the smoldering lips of my foes—
And stripped my tree, my, good old tree.
Shaken and fear bound I fell, hurling down,
Down, down , ramming through every branch,
Smothered by the sound of tearing leaves
I grieved, till my weeping knew the ends of eternity.
I slumbered, tucked into the lush soil—weeping still.
Till’ I one day found, that, the roaring force
My foes compiled; bore with it seeds,
Halved in an eternity past; to one day be watered
By the weeping of a soul sincere in every motion—Like I.
That someday, they may become great trees of thought and reason,
Much like my good old oak, I and my dry cheeks,
Run through today.
