Murmuring Winds

"Tonight, we sit beneath an ancient tree and converse with closed lips. For our heart is filled with words which cannot be expressed. The tree will listen, we know this. For the wise tree has heard many tales through its years. Such, is a tree of ancient blossoms, where lovers once rejoiced beneath its cool shades, and others have shed their tears upon the soils which covers its deepened roots. The gods will listen. The skies will listen. The suns will listen. The tree is all, and none. For we are no longer the man we once were, for we are the many in one's shade. For we are the one with more faces. For we are the begotten, the forgotten, and the estranged who roam as vagrants. We are not loved, we are not desired. For we are the slain, whose curse is such. We no longer seek asylum, for we have earned such place within the realms of our souls. The cries of our pains, none heard. The man who once was a mere one, is now the many.

He has no anguish, for the tree listens to him. He has no love, for the tree smiles upon him. He has no sorrow, for the tree heals him. He speaks to the tree, for he has become a member of its ancient roots. One often asks as to whom we speak of and we answer, ask him. For he lays beneath the grounds which houses the tree. For he died long ago, and they buried him beneath and amidst the tree. He killed himself, for one night he could no longer bare his ceaseless anguish. Some say that his soul still wanders searching for such he had never found. Some say that he is the tree, for its ancient roots fed from his rotting corpse upon his burial. Some say, that he now stooges upon the tree's knowledge. These are tales, myths, and legends. For we are him, and he is us. For once he died and his spirit drifted onto the afterlife, he found us and we found him. He was weak and he was lost, until he had found us.

Now, we linger as one, seeking restitute for his soul. He needs us. He wants us. He seeks us. His name is unknown, yet we shall give him our aid", murmured the winds.