I see the trees trying to grow large enough to leave this place.
They were:
Hand-Holding-Plants
makinglovetopeace
We are:
as if statues building one another
large enough
to destroy themselves
We are the wicked,
making love
to our sickness.
and when wicked
is the eye of the beholder
we build a great and terrible machine around us which we call Us.
It is the shaking scared skeleton of a forest rotting away from a place which beauty built in it's sleep.
the motion picture of the horror sequence of our mind.
The world bleeds out the fire of man
Born inside a seraphim skin
we abuse and build death
around our bodies
in connected piles on the ground.
waiting calmly.
coming in for the ****
an anthill
vacated and caved in
until everything is finally
quiet and still.
you can not grow skin
on a mausoleum
and wait for it to breathe.
while you sit
and you wait
your own skin
will leave.
when nothing is left to die,
in that time;
no one is left to grieve.