Hollow

The dead tree stands arched

Twisted roots coiled to the ambience

Winded to life, spent from the ages

Leafless arms, reaching for the causeless

A gauntlet of scions masked

By an over-looking canopy of needles

Poised above

Like a taciturn wraith, waiting to strike

Rotting slowly, disfiguring in vision

Caught in poisoned earth.

Gripping to life, throbbing with pain…

Pain circulating its hold

Holding firm, to cheat deaths menacing grip…

Devouring the last of its energy…

Wilting to the ground…

In a slow and painful wrath…

Tilting towards the mire

Gathered underneath its tomb

Dark like the night sky

Dusk like the doubt blinded

Within us…

Creeping towards the ground

Arched painfully

Twisted roots weaken…

-Lurid Black-