The Red and Gold Forrest

Under an ashen sky
Where fire rains
Smoke fills the lungs
With heat eminating
From the ground
Scorching the skin
One is driven to the crimson trees

The trees kindly respond
Producing a sweet perfume
From their crimson flowers
Telling gleeful stories
Of their terrible lives
With red strings hanging
From their golden branches

Under a blue-grey sky
Where gold drips
Petrichor fills the lungs
With a quiet song eminating
From birds and the trees
Filling the heart with peace
One is driven closer to the crimson trees

One then rests with the trees
The trees kindly respond
Producing soft growths
From their crimson flowers
But one itches with curiosity
Lying along red strings
Hung from golder branches

Under a night sky
Where silence grows from the moon
Dreams fill the mind
With light eminating
From the sleeping lightning bug
Who can taste it's calm nature
One is drawn to the crimson heart of the trees

One feels at unease
The trees respond kindly with
Broken gifts and gleaming mirrors
Falsifying hope
From their crimson flowers
But one burns with a question
Screaming from between
The red strings and golden branches

Can you see me?
Can you hold me?
Can you love me?
Can you perhaps even free me?
Convinced by such words
The trees in their glory
Obliged
Obliged until nothing
But the silence of the forest was left