Here you are in the center of our midst. How came you here? By wandering paths you treaded? Nothing will be left by morning.
See cold specters overarching you? Can you hear that mournful scraping sound? Can your ears detect a solemn wail? Understand, that is the voice of regret...a voice that whispers in stillness and entreats the wind. Fluttering creatures rest on us and fall to untimely deaths. We have no patience, we have no pity. We have only sap that runs down our cheeks like tears. We stand here where memories of pain remain--soaking deep into the ground. We are rooted here where our own darkness did once reside.
We are the ones who have made mistakes. We were the ones who trusted; we were the ones who tried and failed.You see one of us alone in an empty field? That one has no remorse. We broken ones gather here, all together, fearful of solitude. We bend beneath our sheltering arms, and tremble at the slightest breeze. We cling to one another.You see an evergreen--it pines away. And the willows weep.
See our fallen sisters? They are lying prostrate on the ground, pale skin peeled away to reveal the bone. They are the lucky ones. To forget is a luxury denied to most. Oh! To be stuck by fire from heaven. Oh! To be felled by blades from below. To be turned to ash and disappear on the wind.... 'Tis a thought far too great for comprehension. We can only hope for that inevitable day when we finally crumble to be devoured by worms.
You stay here. You keep us solemn company. That is good--it will not be long now. Your own seed will fall and take root just like ours. Then you can huddle here, where memories of pain remain--soaking deep into the ground.