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Crooked Trees

I am sitting on the spine of the land.

 There is no sound

Save for a slow rustle of the wind.

I smell smoke and re,

Pain and fear, Tears

And Laughter, and I

Sigh

I have lost the will to dream,

Dance, devour the taste of freedom.

Das of solitude amongst instruments of peace,

!f knowledge, plagued innocence, crum"le

As the wa# of a candle settles.

 $et I feel no regret, no anger, no sin.

 The are %s, &e are Them.

'easting upon greed, am"ition, drive for success,

&e stum"le along wearing our crooked facades,

Smiles and tears resem"ling emotion,

!minousl cold.

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'igments of our imagination waver,

!ur art, humanit, poetr.

A slap to the face, an apple stolen from the tree,

A crooked tree.

Spineless, mortal, "eautiful.

I rest m pen upon the rotten grass,

Irregular footsteps,

( "ones creak as I "ranch out m spine,

And clim"

 The )rooked Tree.