Silence, is awakened by her gusting approach,
Towing with her, another key
From a cold bearing decline,
Temperately landing, amongst the baron branches
That struggles to keep the dangling tales,
When she shrills, a story floods the roots
Unlocked, by the tightly fastened noose
In the shadow of a key,
Weighing down a stunted climb
By hollow horrors in a fabled squawk,
Each bellow of a splattered sentence
Further opens the gaping sinkhole,
She finds distance, to only bestow
An overshadowed key, etched into it
Lies doom, a haunting cloud that rumbles
In the throat of the high winged soar,
A storm that drums the sapless
Held on tightly in constraints
Of the weaved bubble from dirty talons
Fabricating life, and glorifying darkness, Now the tree resides as a sumo
With dear in it’s roots,
Being hugged, by consumption,
Dressed, in an overcrowding, blind deceit,
A warning, never to cross the Rubicon.
©DorianPoe 2015
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