ODE TO THE MYRRH TREE
So the tree stood in the centre of the desert
Mangled by winds of change and truth of joy
and chains of dust and torrents of rare rain
Burnt black and senseless by an
unrelenting Sun of nightmare beauty
......
“Good things come and go”
A pretty anarchist said to him
her white knuckles brushing
stringy brunette hair from her forehead
“But they always come”
She let out a sigh he could feel in his bones
and it reverberated to his core
She told me of the magic she found in this world
of spells we cast upon ourselves
......
ODE TO THE MYRRH TREE
So the tree stood in the centre of the desert
Mangled by winds of change and truth of joy
and chains of dust and torrents of rare rain
Burnt black and senseless by an
unrelenting Sun of nightmare beauty
......
“Good things come and go”
A pretty anarchist said to him
her white knuckles brushing
stringy brunette hair from her forehead
“But they always come”
She let out a sigh he could feel in his bones
and it reverberated to his core
She told me of the magic she found in this world
of spells we cast upon ourselves
......