Taking A Stand
The taste of blood on her lips,
She opens them.
It drips,
On the floor,
She lays,
A dark pool in the midst of a glittering forest,
She wipes away the red metal.
Eyes open.
Searching.
Wondering.
Filling, with the no longer eery energy of the darkness,
Seeping around her.
Taking a stand,
Reaching high above,
Blooming into an old wise oak,
Sturdy in its wake
Tranquil,
But there will always be a chunk
A book filled with rotting bruised bones
In its root.
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