It was an old tree,
Watered with the blood of ages.
Filled to the brim,
With life, endless life.
Such an evil tree,
It’s limbs stripped bare,
Void of all leaves,
The roots craggled,
Dark, spidery fingers breaking,
The dry, parched ground.
Thirsting for more,
More of the sustenance,
That flowed within my veins.
Asking me to open them.
To feed it’s hungry mouths.
The spirits of the tree,
They haunted me in my sleep.
In lieu of my dreams,
They gave me desolate images,
Of the tired faces of those before me,
Who had succumbed to the requisition,
To open their veins and bleed before it.
I clung to my blade,
It’s deep metallic chill,
Encircling the warmth of my spine.
As I lay dying,
Amidst the rotting fruit.
The edge lightly kisses my flesh.
Leaving the tingle of life beneath it.
Hungry for the sustenance in my veins
The life flowing through my heart.
It’s kiss plunges deeper,
Raking the flesh from my body.
Gouging deep within,
Removing the scourge of darkness,
That materializes and consumes my soul.
Then I awake from my slumber,
Amidst the toils of the day.
Falling prey to the sunlit path,
That rises up to meet my weary feet.
A crow is cawing,
It’s baneful, sorrowful sound,
I look in wonder at the mystery,
Of the storm clouds I have found.
Amidst the breaking darkness,
Stars twinkle and smile at me.
Yet again, I find slumber,
Tickling the edges of my vision.
Amidst the limbs of that lonesome tree.
Then I fall asleep silently,
As the dreams of that terrible tree,
Surely will find me.


Linc Brown

Kimball, United States

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