Creatures lurk within the trees,
Alive, unseen without the key.
Gushing winds hide whispering thoughts,
Of ghosts and spells and elvish sorts.
Damp is the dark bark’s texture beneath your soft hand’s touch.
Gaze upon the majesty whose roots run deep in mud.
The oak was born before your breath and lives beyond your trudge.
All that gaze on ancient art will drown in endless blood.
Yet, all that do or don’t,
Will suffocate in time.
We try to swim afloat,
But, drink the reaper’s wine.
The evil thought you had tonight,
The one that gave a light excite,
Will be the ancient snake’s delight,
As much as spells occults recite.
Written by Randall Evans
This one isn’t quite done, but I haven’t posted in a while. I’ll be adding to it shortly.