Wood of crimson & bone where the dead
lie still, leaves are their burial
Rites they fall from life to
Canvas,
Shroud,  
Envelope
The flesh, for the fallen are the
Food of the wood, new life
Reaches up, Roots entangle
Around every bone,
Interweaved,
Disordered,
Chaotic
Lifelessness now scattered
Among the roots of this linage
Of old, new saplings
Now sprung forth from the
Leaved burials that litter the floor,
They call this forest, leaves of blood
As all leaves that grow forth are
Crimson,
Burgundy,
Blossoming
Forth, as if each leaf has life of its own,
Each of the branches growing
Resemblance of ***** fingers reaching
Out to a world, wisps
Encircle,
Envelope,
Halos
Of white mist greet all trees,
As if the souls of the departed
Sleep silently around this gravestone
Of wood, And leaves one again
Fall, not all just one, and this tree with
No leaves, now resting upon the floor
Like the features of bones grow out and forth
As some where in this
Forest of crimson and bone,
A body now rests in its tome of red
This is the home of the dead, where the trees grow.