The Ash Tree

Blood thumping, suspended sloth-like,

and betraying the nature of my being,
I climbed up to its top.

Its bark was scab-covered,

and its roots were spread out hands below

that pushed through earth like shrapnel.  

Beholding the world laid out before me,
I kicked my feet and saw the Sun, 
a half-moon on the horizon,

retreating its fingers of light slowly

as dark frontiers pressed forwards.

Sheep huddled in corners of fields

with no protection from those shadows

that wet the grass with dew and drool.

Mushroomed-clouds bloomed from chimneys,

climbing through the air, but reaching nothing;
and sudden shivers came over me,

all light had withered, only dark cold grew,

and I did not shiver from the cold.