A poem about nameless corruption in a forest.
Nestled coldly in the tree trunk, they laugh and laugh
Within a mottled oak husk, they teem with fevered wrath.
Malignant and clustering, churning and blustering.
Untouched by the warming sun, they laugh and laugh.
Madness incarnate, silencing the music of birds
Beings of the stranger make, beyond simple words
Told in myth and folklore, attempts to understand more.
Feeding on the life of the woods, they laugh and laugh.
In such a calm and loving forest, peace hastily flees
They don’t belong here, yet nature agrees.
Worse than bees or ants, they gather, swarming with glee
Within the ancient oak of this withering tree.
Mad and full of glory, smoking and burling.
Choking and swirling, they wait for trespassers
Their rage is unfurling.
This dappled forest nurtures what is wild and free
Yet also cultivates the evil that lives inside the tree.
Alive impossible, festering and feeding
Oblivious to the sounds of rightness seeding.
Black and billowing,
They do not see the universe weeding.
Eaten and destroyed, consumed and cloyed
The tree falls down with the things of the void
Back to where they came from, they go, filled with wrath
In their home, the darkness, they laugh and laugh.