The Slippery Tree Of Death

The Slippery Tree Of Death

They hung him high on a slippery tree,

Where a thousand old souls tried hard to get free.

The branches creaked under the weight of despair,

As the wind carried whispers of unanswered prayer.

Roots entwined with histories untold,

Nourished by blood of the young and the old.

Leaves shivered, witnessing the endless plight,

While shadows danced in the dimming light.

No dawn would break this endless night,

No justice served to set things right.

The tree stands as a silent plea,

A monument to cruelty.

Beneath its boughs, the soil is stained,

With tears of those who cried in vain.

The air is thick with sorrow’s breath,

A testament to unjust death.

The sun retreats, the sky turns gray,

As if the heavens look away.

The world moves on, but here remains,

A symbol of unending pain.

What was his sin to cause this death?

He smothered his wife with a pillow

till she had no breath.

Now he swings where the old souls weep,

A restless shade of eternal sleep.