Broken Trees That Curse The Living

Broken Trees That Curse The Living

They stand twisted, their roots torn from the ground,

Branches clawing at the sky without a single sound,

No gentle shade, no quiet peace, no comfort left to give,

Only the weight of something dark that does not wish to live.

The bark is split with jagged lines, like scars that never close,

Each crack a silent echo of a truth nobody knows,

I feel their presence watching me, though nothing meets my eye,

A forest filled with something lost that never chose to die.

The wind does not pass kindly here, it howls instead of sighs,

Carrying words I cannot place, like distant, broken cries,

I walk but feel unwelcome still, as though I should not stay,

As if these trees remember more than time can take away.

Their limbs reach out in crooked forms, like warnings in the dark,

Each shadow cast feels heavier than any simple mark,

I hear the ground beneath me shift, a restless, bitter tone,

A place where life once tried to grow, now cursed to stand alone.

No leaf will soften what they are, no bloom will hide the truth,

Something here has long been lost, far deeper than its roots,

A memory that stains the earth, that never washed away,

A curse that lingers in the air and colours every day.

And still they stand, unyielding, cold, refusing to forgive,

A forest that resents the breath of those who choose to live,

I leave with something I cannot name, yet cannot leave behind,

A darkness etched within the bones, that settles in the mind.

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