Grave Tree (by Pro Gramm)

The Goth's (bless their black souls)
cannot get enough of this stuff.
This is from my friend Pro Gramm.



THE GRAVE TREE

There I have never gone, sadly beyond
any wind, where your dreams have their darkness
In your most cold loss are things which die in me,
or which I cannot beg for because they are too cruel

Your bleak truth awfully will hit me
though I have cut myself unto death
You always fell leaf by leaf, upon myself
as the tree waits sadly for a sorrowful grave

Or if your branches be wishing for me, I and
the sky will cry submissively, howl violently,
as when the darkness of this wind blows
like the thing that sadly everywhere hunts

Nothing which we are to know in this earth sees
the entrance of your earnest room, whose door
appeals to me with each creak of its hinge,
showing night and dark in each opening

I do not look into what it is about you that prays
and waits, only something in me knows that
the fall of your leaves is more painful than all terror
Nothing, not even loneliness, has such damp despair

- Pro Gramm

.oOo.

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