In the nightingales land of sightless roam,
Flowers sinking in oceans that surrounds the suns tasteless atmosphere.
Sound hardly reaches here,
A moan might echo through the rusting leaves
While headless snakes drown themselves in mounds of sand.
The seasons final breath is overtaking the new dawns blind birds, chained and inherent, branded by the parents
Washed in the moons waterfall.
Drinking the fruit of existence is not a friendly gesture to the dark tinted smoke clouds.
The shelter around is not man made so it's mantra won't fade when a storm brews in from lands it can't comprehend, I envy the stillness of this tree, it doesn't have a purpose it just lies in it's sleep,
It just paints enlightenment so elegantly and it's gentleness is not overlooked though it's dreams are not considered in the self there lies all,
Day will still move and night shall bear it's lonely fruit of terror.
When I return from the promise land and preach of the trees sacred silence
There's little to no words muttered out,
I'm nothing less than a rotting mad man,
Describing what his last dream was about,
Certainly peculiar, holding the spine of a million flowers, dancing in joy and
Speaking of fictional hours.
The brain hungry zombies burst through the walls and demand that I be silenced,
I rave and I rage,
You're words deliver plagues, you lock the people in with teases of tomorrow and slight traces of happiness and sorrow.
They imply my betrayal of the human race so on the orders of a proclaimed savior and the disciples he lead, they chain me to the walls of a cave to be locked in until death.
My eyeballs drip water and my thoughts circle in a darkness choir,
But as I scream and riot
I remember the stillness of the silent tree,
So I loosen my grip on fate and let behold the gods wrath of grapes.
My legs firmly plant on the quicksand floor
As time cracked and lowered, my vision unto the darkness is wiped, all is dark.
Mornings don't rise, there's no truth or lies, I freeze in my thoughts.
All my loneliness ceases and like a rock I sink, lower and lower through a darkness that worried my uneased soul, I'm left naked in the floor of a fortress which shall morn the passing glimpse of my lights last worn out cry.
Alone and vast
I'm like that silent tree at last.