A forest;
Gnarled floors,
Fallen branches,
stillness that haunts the ear.
Among this place,
Demons roam.
This forest is rife with legend.
Older than the western haunted houses,
I'd taken for granted.
Her beauty is slow and painful,
But the peace she has, cradles the dead,
Gives them their last breath of life.
I walk this forest,
A tourist.
She knows my kind,
The kind who convince themselves
They understand death without being dead.
She moves her branches,
and let's me crush my foot on her earth.
She lets me venture deeper into her twisted beauty.
And me, thinking that it will be all anticipation
And hints of those who have passed on,
Mosey with elation.
Then;
Through the trees,
She reveals herself to me.
She is resting...
She is dead.
She couldn't be,
The stories are all visceral fantasy.
I have fear, I have sadness, I am terrified, and disgusted.
The blood rushes,
And I brace terror,
She mixes with my blood, and runs it cold.
The stillness, an ever-rendering sobriety.
I turn, as does my stomach,
And I walk, while her trees
clasp at my limbs and beckon me back to her.
She Is disgusting,
She is beautiful,
The sun rests on her skin, and gives me a temporary peace,
As the realization washes over me,
This is what I wanted to see.
I came hoping
for her beauty to tell
A grim tale.
The forest opened wide before me,
I bore her unnatural beauty,
And let it dig itself deep into my heart.
This is the woman who died in the sea of trees.
神は彼女の平和を与える可能性があります.
