Trees

[Stinkyfinger]

The trees, all mangled and twisted, were ugly in the extreme,
and, no doubt, bitter, brutal, and a special kind of mean,
The truest, nastiest nightmares, I ever have seen,
They bore down on me, though at the time I did not know,
They squared me up, wanting for us to fight toe-to-toe,
Daring me to pass through their haunted lair of woe,
They grabbed at me, nabbed at me, hoping that I’d scare,
Malign branches reached for me, getting tangled in my hair,
I found myself surrounded, without hope of going anywhere,
They were all really quite mad, I immediately began to see,
It seems quite crazy now, but they were angry as hell at me,
From deep in their throats, they accused “you’re not a tree,”
They couldn’t move or groove, and hated those that could,
Never any prancing about or leaving the neighborhood,
Had turned the trees malign, the blackest hearts of wood,
Their community of brush and thicket, evil and quite old,
The scrub and bush surrounding them held them within it’s fold,
And turned their souls malignant, crusted with cruel and cold,
Never had I seen or felt as bitter and hateful a place,
As deep within this forest that hid such a hideous race,
I turned about quickly, relieved they couldn’t give chase,
And ran from the grove of horror, confused in disbelief,
That with every step away from them I lamented their grief,
If only they could tear me apart they’d feel a sense of relief,
They struggled at their roots, and tried desperately to impart,
That the strength of their resolve lay deep within their heart,
And if I dared to come back that way, I’d never again depart.