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