Ensnared in tangled webs,
Upon this bed I lie.
Snuggled deep in a blanket of decay.
Slowly it strangles the life from my body,
Etching its mark deep into my hardened flesh:
A permanent reminder of my failure.
The web-blooms provide the people's enjoyment,
Letting their seed soak the earth to hunt others.
They bring a swift and invisible tide of death,
Not enough time now to catch one's own breath.
Reaching out, I try to escape this doom,
But its limbs quickly devour me again.
I am beautiful despite this lie:
This sure prophecy of my slow demise.
At my feet are outstretched arms.
Brightly decorated to celebrate this ritual,
Which has become an agonizing yearly dance.
Here they are yet again,
Gently swaying back and forth to the wind,
Urging the reaper to descend.
They've always wanted me gone,
So that they may soon after take my place,
Thrive on my remains,
Which shall make my world rich,
Soon my beautiful body will become gnarled,
Twisted and misshapen;
As more of myself breaks away;
As I turn an ugly black and grey.
For I am the bush just beyond, covered in bright green foliage,
And budding flowers grace my skin.
For I am the one among many who will die,
Die with no one caring, for I am just a plant.
And plants can't feel pain.
Yet I swear I can feel blood dripping from my veins.
For I am the bush just beyond,
Writing in pain that no one can see,
For, despite my agony, I smile and wave.
Ever after I shall never reveal this truth,
So others may remain oblivious to the suffering of many more,
Besides their own kind.
Because all they need is to remain so blind.
As my kind has no purpose,
I will die with no meaning and remain unknown.
For that is the fate of a simple creature such as I.
Upon this bed I lie.
Snuggled deep in a blanket of decay.
Slowly it strangles the life from my body,
Etching its mark deep into my hardened flesh:
A permanent reminder of my failure.
The web-blooms provide the people's enjoyment,
Letting their seed soak the earth to hunt others.
They bring a swift and invisible tide of death,
Not enough time now to catch one's own breath.
Reaching out, I try to escape this doom,
But its limbs quickly devour me again.
I am beautiful despite this lie:
This sure prophecy of my slow demise.
At my feet are outstretched arms.
Brightly decorated to celebrate this ritual,
Which has become an agonizing yearly dance.
Here they are yet again,
Gently swaying back and forth to the wind,
Urging the reaper to descend.
They've always wanted me gone,
So that they may soon after take my place,
Thrive on my remains,
Which shall make my world rich,
Soon my beautiful body will become gnarled,
Twisted and misshapen;
As more of myself breaks away;
As I turn an ugly black and grey.
For I am the bush just beyond, covered in bright green foliage,
And budding flowers grace my skin.
For I am the one among many who will die,
Die with no one caring, for I am just a plant.
And plants can't feel pain.
Yet I swear I can feel blood dripping from my veins.
For I am the bush just beyond,
Writing in pain that no one can see,
For, despite my agony, I smile and wave.
Ever after I shall never reveal this truth,
So others may remain oblivious to the suffering of many more,
Besides their own kind.
Because all they need is to remain so blind.
As my kind has no purpose,
I will die with no meaning and remain unknown.
For that is the fate of a simple creature such as I.
