And the rustling of dark green leaves that play to me like piano keys

So many consecutive sentences I'd like to add up, gain insight on some estranged topic

Just like the patter of rain falling through tree branches, it helps staunch the aching but slowly fills me with a feeling

I would take a funeral, if it meant just a week more for me, a chance to see the sights I spent so long in

Even so, the ground bubbled, entranced a bit of mirth, swallowed up by the thorns and roots that choke out the light within

I still need them, they support the lofty branches defining this ideal, bittersweet if not for the shine having been worn off completely

Gone, but far from forgotten

Not forgotten in the slightest, the wall of misplaced altruism still encompasses my forest

I still pray for the trees, I do, when the depth of night slowly rotates over

Still...