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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.
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Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
Forest Of Crimson & Bone
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.
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Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
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