Autochthon -

Hands and knees grasping earth

The shining rust

Eggshell eyes

Brimming madness

Drink deep

The tumult fades

The silence dreams of nothing

The tree is as old as age

Branches grow, arcane fractals

Whispering to you of gentle vacuum and release

Rest your weary brow in laughing, sighing boughs

Soothe your fevers in the pulsing bark and rot

And dream of nothing

Drown your sorrows in murmurings

That fissure from gnarled growths and red earth

«The taker-away of pain…

… and the giver-back of beauty!»

Cast your eyes into your eyes

As veins and roots become one

As worlds spill from inchoate thoughts

As you fade