Euthanasia (Broken Trees)

Euthanasia (Broken Trees)                                                          

I am made of broken trees,
Of Autumn’s death-laden leaves,
A patchwork of spruce and pine,
Giving way to the humid breeze,
Strangled by the vines
Of hopeless dreams,
I am the thoughts left behind,
Memories left to freeze.

I am made of broken trees,
Rotten and rancid, still I bleed.
I look to the ravens, things malign,
Such evil creatures they seem to be,
Their dark ways I can’t define,
Too much darkness left in me,
In life’s last days, in fear, sublime,
I succumb to my disease.

I am made of broken trees,
My heart, my joy, I long for these
I dreamt a dream, a thought only mine,
One false hope as I decease,
I die before the morning shine,
Whilst the ravens tread among the leaves.
Upon my soul, they feast, they dine;
Euthanasia's black-feathered breeze.