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The Tree Hugger and the Lost Paradise

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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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