The Cursing Tree

Where ivy leapt with gallow'd palms

overgrown sighs unto sights, too leap.

For a dream -- o' a dream, — ov dreamier dreams

lastly resting near the curs•ed tree.

To the dead, to the dead, we have buried now,

awaking those inside the mind - in sleep

salutations must come, to the one whom longs

leering into a thought on a dream in full swing.

An idyllic pressure once known to prod

on a love that is loved most dearly;

pressing face, yet, leaving taste,

from the branchings of a poisonous memory.

Ov yew, once maple.

Ov we, a virid grayscale.

Climbing higher, ever higher,

upon the highest, rancor.

A blink, and then a blink

crashing back - to eating earth

While slicing through the rubbish.

Wilting's singed under tightrope hugger,

as fernish feasting promised.

One lone thought in mire while walking,

how her sorrow, and my needs,

led increase to our melancholia

the fool beset, the pacing, the stomping,

the daze in silence, the madness talking:

"When the weight of the world seems lesser on neck,

be hopeful for the break, and be thankful for the rest."