A glowing Tree. A glamorous Tree.
Birds of far forests fly to thee.
Plentiful acorns stashed deep in thy trunk.
Woodpeckers perch, searching for a bunk.

At its base, sprouts a vine.
"Who are you?" it asks with curious eyes.
"A Tree of the forest," said it with great might.
"It's dark down there, climb my trunk to find light."

So the little Vine went, scaling its bark.
Climbing branch by branch, climbing yard by yard.
The birds heard the word and chirped a cruel song,
For infamy lies in the household of the vine.

Reached the top, basked in the sun.
Hung the fiery ball: bright, unique, one.
Yet a cardinal mutters, "It's stealing its light.
The murderer is choking our great, lively Tree!"

Till termites came and gnawed at its roots.
Eating bit by bit, taking all they could.
With the Tree came a thunderous boom.
There it lay. Cold, lifeless, and certainly shameful.

The Vine lay by its side, helpless and hurt.
While wild critters came and whispered
Of the terrible, terrible things it had done.
As the Vine shriveled away, down to dark depths.

The Watchman rushes to the tower’s edge.
Markets burn brightly with flickering flames.
With families inside, the old church collapses.
Eventually, a burnt corpse with no name.
From a fiery furnace rises flesh-smelling smoke.
Carrying humanity’s guilt and shame.

The Watchman escapes, sprints to the kingdom
Musicians prepare for battle with a steady rhythm
Flutes begin sounding a swift, vibrant melody
Violas pluck a soft, but forceful harmony

The Watchman cries out to a listening crowd.
“Horrific, terrifying creatures are near.
A void of black, ears turned from the sound,
of monsters writhing in pain and agony.
Strong, steel chains by which they are bound.
Where vultures flock and tear flesh apart.”

“Shh,” says the Listener. “Let me listen no more
A song of beauty would much rather be heard”
From an Evergreen tree, a raven sweeps by.
Cawing echoes, like rain before a storm.
“Shh,” says the Listener. “I will listen no more!”

Blue birds flutter feathers in morning winds.
A cardinal sings from its strong beak.
Wind carries the weightless creatures.
So delicate, so intricate. Yet, so weak.

The bird takes off from a nest of hungry mouths.
All is calm… but look in its eyes. Fires.
Does the bird fly in freedom?
Or in the flames of its own desires?

His eyes peer out from darkness
to faint, far lights ahead
in desperation, he runs towards the sun
by its warmth he’s led

My monochrome eyes search and search
they seek these great lights
yet all I see is black upon black
despite my long and arduous fights

Then he reaches his destination
knowing prosperous times will come
picks baskets-full of ripe fruit
“How great is life!” He hums

I crawl and stagger on cold, hard rock
with darkness as my guide
I cry and cry. I weep and weep
but he has left me to die

Seeing the darkness of life, I say,
“That paradise must be a lie.”

A flower beautiful
as soft as velvet and
as intricate as a labyrinth.
The eyes of everyone
pass over this flower
praising it for its glory.

I gaze upon this flower
with a stem of many thorns
I see its imperfections.
It’s burdens flaws and failures
how great and many are they
underneath its petals.

They’re there for the viewer to see
the sins of current and past
but they lock their viewpoint.
Upon the petals
everyone’s eyes stay
because thorns hurt to grasp.