The Boy Raised by Daemons

The Boy Raised by Daemons

The cherry trees sway,
Flowing with the god of tempest and storm.
Their blood covered leafs,
Twisting and turning,
This way and that,
Falling to their base.


Covering bodies of man,
The victimless.
Those claimed by their splendor,
That ignorant bliss,
That false happiness,
Those gaping voids of nothingness.


Can I expect to be human?
Me, the boy born of the great tree’s womb,
The mighty trunk and spirit of Gaia.

Those demonic trees.
I who was raised in their care,
The care of their branches, blossoms, and leaf’s.
Raised by this daemon called nature.


I thought not,
How could I?


I spent my time lying upon mother.
Against her mighty breast,
And above her roots,
Witch above all else stole the life of man.

My false looks deceive.
Both man and woman draw near,
Only to be murdered by mother,
By nature.
All this to nourish mother,
And nurture me.


But a girl, a daughter of Gaia,
Both young and mature as I.
An angelic presence of warmth and security.
An angel from the midst of man.


She grasped my pleading hands,
Guiding me to a new home.
I felt her kindness,
As if she carefully and softly…
Pulled me by the heart.


We built a home in mothers presence,
Respecting her will.
A home emanating with respect,
My temple, my shrine.


A wondrous angel
At first here I touched hands,
But more followed,
Her arms, her neck, her cheeks.
At long last our lips meet.
She taught me to speak, read, and write,
She taught me to play, to study and work,
She taught me to be me,
She taught me to love,
And last she taught me…
To remain better then man,
To be human.