The Bleeding Tree

Were you to die and leave a void
In the air, crisp as all you were
Then I could plant you like a seed
And blossom forth a bleeding tree.

With clustered nerves in hardened earth
Like roots betwixt cracked stones to jut
Rounding upward into a trunk
Of wild, warping blackened bone.

Shaped tightly by cold muscle born
From a violently broken heart
Aged on by thirst from summer heat
Drawn long by the pale autumn leaves.

All flakes of skin dancing lightly
Like fine ash in volcanic winds
Kissing the fragile scabbing bark
Coated with saps of tears and blood.

With no ears to hear, mouth to scream
Or legs to run from misery
A masterpiece for all to see
That grows my art; the bleeding tree.

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