Lending Into Destined Demise

The trees that exhale into the waning night call for death to lay beneath their branches,
And into that would I give for peace and completion.
Morose eyes do shine on the pebbles in the dew softened path,
These stars want to crush my soon ending existence,
And with that I can not compete.
On bending, dirt brushed knees, I call for forgiveness from the foliage.
Bent down toward my misted face, their arms collide into tearing flesh,
Rods into whips will remove sin.
Exhaustion claims victory and a crumpled body remains,
And I am left to wander aimlessly beneath the trees,
Servitude unending in this moment that will carry on.

Journal Comments

  • innatenigma