The Twisted Tree

I intended to post this yesterday, but (happy) circumstance prevented me. Here it is now.


Razor edges on a broken world,
Slicing, stabbing hearts and lives,
Shattered people shatter people,
A family tree with leaves like knives.

It blossoms red with victim’s blood,
The skewered lives are dripping pain,
Their bodies, hanging, feed the earth,
The roots turn blood to evil’s gain:

The sap that fuels it’s further growth,
Pain begetting pain the same;
Sticks and stones and broken souls
That feed the tree and play its game.

Rotten fruit of rotten deeds
Hang poisonous on the twisted tree.
We are the seed of Adam’s fall,
How can this shattered race be free?

Spliced onto this monstrosity,
There grew a perfect limb,
His sap was pure, and soon, he said,
Men would be spliced on him.

The branches stabbed and ripped and tore
This fruitful, glorious one,
His body hung upon the tree
And then, before ‘twas done,

He drank the dark and twisted sap,
He ate the fruit so foul,
The perfect bough became the tree,
The very thorns that pierced his brow.

And with a cry that shook the earth,
He died, he fell, was quelled,
And with him, the entire twisted tree
of filth was felled.

He grew again, he grew up great,
Death could not quench his love,
He offered we, on corpse of tree,
His sap, his life, his blood.

So here I grow, a sprig once dead,
On tree of life so vernal.
My sap is peace, and love, and joy,
Blooms sweet, and fruit eternal.

More poetry here.



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