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"The Tree Hugger and the Lost Paradise"

They called her 
the tree hugger,
her forest was full 
of trees that watched
silently, they had 
no mouth to speak,
rustling their leaves
like fingers writing 
strange stories coded
for decoding a mystery
on the haunted breeze,
pointing their slender minds
with chirping directions 
under service of sialia sialis
scarlet cardinalidae
corvi nigri and other
hungry scavengers, 
of strange masters,
fully tithed, bound 
and gagged in bondage 
to the well hidden; 
all the wings gliding
across the long dark night sky,
their erudite quills
dodging the hanging
dismissive -
the waxy hirsute 
Chiroptera, 
who smile refreshed 
at realising dreams
of a new catch,
bearing their already
dripping fresh-fed fangs,
delighting in the 
delicious tasting - 
the romance of 
beguiling newbies
like the bride
being matched,
placards of shame 
around their necks, 
whispering the ways 
like curious matins 
how to move forward,
the ways how to turn back,
oh, behold, the winding labyrinth; 
the greener beings waving 
as if to say, 
“over here, 
come over here,
dear sweet 
touched-in-the-mind
child seeking the 
freedom of free'er things -
I have something 
you need to hear,
I have something 
of importance and 
intrigue to say,
strange creatures
reside in here
they are like 
night and day,
opposites attract
you will learn, 
like light and dark,
these transparent
begin again beings
breaking breath 
just to breathe,
their heads held in stocks 
hypnotised by hemlock,
pink oleander, 
deadly nightshade,
golden dewdrop -
are seen 
standing 
swaying in their 
subterranean state
beside the steadfast ancients 
cedar, cyprus, pine
and dogwood;
all types of rope 
swinging in here, 
my dear,
thorns for glorifying 
slow deaths to regenerate
absolution abstinence 
breaking souls for 
the coming back, 
finding strange ways
in the Bardo to live again;
they’ve shaken armies 
of baboons, red shoe witches
and screaming flying Macaques 
off their backs,
they’ve plundered 
monsters’ hearts
under gaslight 
for the sacrifice
of no coming back,
hands all bloody
juiced from 
seeds of Love 
devoured like 
pomegranates 
with sharper teeth
for the fuelling of minds,
warpaint on their faces 
on their forehead
mark of lux dei crucis
then burned and 
bathed themselves in ash
to reach their 
Lost Paradise

choose wisely
which tree you hug
dear sweet touched-in-the-mind
begin again being

(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
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