Oct 2019
Where olive trees wither, so does my body.
The spirit of fight has left me alone.
The rot from the dirt has tainted the roots and now all that grows is self doubt and pity.
Where apple and pumpkin rot in the sun, where grape and pear shrivel, there is no life left in these dead barren lands, save for I.
Save for I.
On dying tree bark I have told the tale of life before the fall and now all I can remember is after the fall having given my memory to the dying trees.
Where the soul withers away and the blood runs dry, I am the king of the rot.
Where olive trees wither I leave a sun dried wilted corpse as a reminder that life once was and shall be again- in time.
The spirit of fight has left me alone.
The rot from the dirt has tainted the roots and now all that grows is self doubt and pity.
Where apple and pumpkin rot in the sun, where grape and pear shrivel, there is no life left in these dead barren lands, save for I.
Save for I.
On dying tree bark I have told the tale of life before the fall and now all I can remember is after the fall having given my memory to the dying trees.
Where the soul withers away and the blood runs dry, I am the king of the rot.
Where olive trees wither I leave a sun dried wilted corpse as a reminder that life once was and shall be again- in time.
