poisonwood

September 24, 2014 § Leave a comment

This love is a forest:
consuming itself in chunks
as it rots sullenly
in the dank of leaves and bark and dying.

This love is overrun
with unformed angry things
un-enamored of its own beauty
trampled by seasons
deeper into the dark leaf slime.

But this love is a forest.
Out of the slime and the dark tunnels
out of the trampled, the eaten.
Out of the rot, the green grows
Stronger.

The forest eats itself
and lives forever.

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