THE BURNING TREE

At the edge of a craggy precipice,
burns an un-dead Tree.

Its flames stretch their arms 
to Heaven in supplication,
deafened by their own
relentless roaring, parched by
their own heat, imploring respite.

Breathless, it teeters toward
the voracious chasm,
its gaping maw the sole earthly
destination of all who succumb
to Deimos.

Viscous black waters converge
at its foot, Phobos' saturnine
visage mirrored in their
pulsating depths.

A bitter turbulence fans its flames,
buffets its blackened branches, 
tears its roots from the grudging
soil, impatient to yield its fiery
ward to the yawning gorge.

Burn it must, this tree, self-immolate,
its own blaze its lone beacon,
its own warmth its one sustenance.
Else would Darkness enfeeble it, 
its sooty tentacles constrict its heart.

It burns unceasing...

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

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