Sunborne Sacrifice, Of

Of Sunborne Sacrifice

I.

The coffins of Sunborne trees
Linger in the light of versimilitude and trial.

Their hidden seed, cracked and blacken
Twisted madly in drought, wit' de rot of untol' ages.

Hard, crispt and unrepentent
They feed, into de moat of thee weeping Child.

Countless forest, still unboren
Through athousand stories never to horizon.

For now countless lands—too, are
Are freed from the reign of Cunning-tree!

II.

Lands they'd hold
Dirt mount, ash lake,
And forgotten silvery glade
If only they were to
Catch root and seed
They would cover all, everything
In darkness and,
Deterring shade. . .

III.

So spare us now, the tearful Child!

For he does us good and wonderous deed
He plucks from the Word
A weeping, broken' sylabbalic creed, trueth ungreed,

In Tongue to thanks the soil.
And then chops low the dark, sinister forests of wood
So lo, to, that he may extend:

“Truth, Lightfulness, comfort, and sameness,” unto all about,
At detrement only to seed, truely
And too, unloving, huggableless tree—indeed!

The World, so wide, so Heavenly.
Advanced society, true gloriousness
A blinding wonderment unto e'ery quarter lit!

Now billowing sandboc, oh it stand
A testiment to a Saintly greeding grief
And how he sacrificed all for nought.

But a lot of sand and a dust bowl-box.

(Just for dust. . . just. . .
Dust. . .

A bit of dust. . .
Just for dust.)