The Green Wood

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Dragged down deep
Drowning in the morass 
of muck and mud and blood
Arms entwine with mine 
and pull me down ever down
into the ground 
where once I stood 
in this green wood

Voices whisper now, 
from branch and bough 
and roots that twist 
about my ankles and wrist
taking me deeper 
into the dead soil and leaf spoil.
“Pull him down” they growl 
“Pull him down

Eyes clogged as roots grope 
in air pockets 
and empty sockets, 
no tears from vacant eyes 
and ears full of growing groping noise

Sucking now as they 
suck and grow, suck and grow
and sap flows
until I am no more. 
All gone but a nub of bone
A crown that forms a knot 
on the tree of death 
and yet I live and fear 
and hear the sounds 
of others yet
Run run for this way is death

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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