Dismembered Forrest Green to the Tune of Whispers
Dismembered Forrest Green to the Tune of Whispers
Starry insight of resless souls on outter layers,
The soil damp with innocence,
but mature with age and a cunning knowledge of intentions.
The forrest whispers a pitch unrecognizable to those of black wick,
Breath's can be held in the wind as solid and non-fictional currency.
Overworked lungs of the ancient oak still felt in the green of its veins,
Leaves pave pathways to the plot of eternal sincerity and youthful ambitions.
An atmospheric dismemberment of solitude could not replace the green of life.
These branch arms now home to a nest for tunes of youth and age,
Fall will see the grim demise of such beautiful seekers,
but the dismembered forrest is alive in the tune of youthful whispers.