The Tree Hugger and the Lost Paradise
"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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