Incident in the Hollow

Sky looks down with a start,

cry of a lark marks the thunder; spark!

Split bark, falling art.

 

Decaying wound, arboreal tomb.

River flows uphill back to nature’s womb,

only to fulfil the urge to kill

and clear up a little more room.

 

Is any among us truly ever alone?

Dying king, decaying throne,

surrounded by falling stone;

faceless, unknown, overgrown.

 

Arc of time like a spiral unwinds,

unravelled mind once sublime,

now passed its prime by a fine line.

 

An arrow quivers in flight,

shot in spite with godless might.

A time to fight, a time to die,

‘til under root we quietly lie.

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