The tree beckons.
Its twisted limbs reaching out,
The blackened bark of its dead trunk
reflecting the abyss into which it reaches.
The abyss of solitude.
With each step, the gnarled roots try to catch,
to hold and stay,
but on we march,
Silence, but for the crunch of leaves.
Your rough skin rubs against me.
twisted and threaded.
I feel the knot,
as I throw you up, over that thick, strong, limb.
I tug on you and feel the resistance.
Feel your strength.
The rough black leaves marks on my skin.
Rubbing it away to reveal the weakness.
But it doesn’t stay my resolve.
I stand and look out over the emptiness, and see myself.
Into the abyss.