The Trees

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It seems absurd, that these beings be locked in so fierce an embrace,
and yet we all stumble below.

How are we deaf to their wrenching screams?
          of pain?
          of bliss?
          of agony?

That these beings be locked in so fierce a struggle.

How loud, how like fire their forms.

They do not embrace the night they pierce it, they wrap their arms about its virgin skin

                                                                                  and suffocate it.

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They carve the nestled diamonds from its brow
                                                                                     and gnaw at the exposed sinew.

They crush the shimmering stones against their flesh,

                                                                  and writhe in delight as verdant blood seeps down.

 

They gorge themselves on the night’s screams.

They stuff their ears with its wrested song.
They catch its singing flesh as it drifts down,

And weave it about their limbs.

They slip through the air-
Sweet as baby’s blood,
Brazen as a lover’s death.

They dip and twirl silently across that gleaming abattoir.

The claw the night’s throat,
They snap its ribs,
And chew its bones.

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They grasp its tender-beating heart in their clutching-gnarled hands.
And whisper
                “Here, here it is at last.”

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They consume its life,
The quench their thirst,
And when we wake,

They sleep accursed.