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To The Roots

Evergreens tower in unity
from the forest floor where
limpid sunlight bleeds
into unyielding shadows.
They stare down upon-- hover over me,
and it is increasingly
ominous.
An aura of malevolence leers
thick as fog smothering,
encompassing,
the sepulchral forest depths,
the likes of which are
obscure in my humanly sight,
suffocated beneath their own lacquer
of forbidding.
The envy trees utter hushed soliloquies,
their needles bristling
backwards and
they think that I cannot hear;
they think that I am blind!
But I am not blind,
and so I can hear,
and I strain nigh to listen
to the muttered sobriquets
they sling towards me
on their breath,
and the cryptic slang stands stagnant
in the air like fog
so that when I inhale, my tongue tastes
acrid,
as oxygen convened with their foul words--
syllables tainted after treading a labyrinth
of projected disdain.




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