TRAGIC Poem: The Bleeding Tree, by Andrew Macdonald

Through the deluge and lightning above,
I ran from a life with no love.
Loud it cracked, that roar of thunder,
Through my head, my soul to plunder.
Awoken Again, a rumbling silence,
A room with no colour, a defiance of science.

The room was bright white,
Yet lit with no light.
No windows, no walls,
just vast open halls.
No ceiling, just ground.
No end to be found.

Three days or three hours,
My senses devoured,
The silence was ringing.
My eyes they were stinging.
From a great distance.
A sound of persistence.

Three times it did say,
Without wavering Astray.
“Holy, Holy, Holy.”
From above and below me.
The sound echoed around.
Yet no source could be found.

Three more times, it did ring.
The voice, so loud it did sing.
To the ground, the sound knocked me.
From my ears, my blood ran free.
In the endless white sky.
Came forth a light, a firefly.

The light was no dragon,
Giant wings like a falcon,
Three sets it possessed.
Although two sat at rest.
Veiling its feet and its face,
The beast approached with much grace.

Closer and closer, it came.
Its body glowed like a flame.
Countless eyes it adorned,
viewing my soul, I was scorned.
A voice like a trumpet, It spoke.
“Here, by your soul, I revoke.”

Endlessly downward, I fell,
Once more, the voice rang out like a bell,
“To the forest, I cast thee down.
In the form of a tree, thee shall drown.
self destruction thy sin.
Let your atonement begin.”

Within an oak is my cell,
Regret and anguish an endless well.
in my branches, the harpies rest.
With no mercy in their breast.
A twig a day is torn from me,
Damned to exist as a bleeding tree.

My prior actions I regret,
My former self, a vacant silhouette.
This punishment is endless
My crime considered stupendous.
My life a precursor,
To the wood of self murder.