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Ethereal, the sorrows touch on landscapes,
dying in the bleak light reflected by a dead solitary rock.
Deep within the forest, beneath the winter sky,
I breathe the scent of barren trees as I follow a path.

Far beyond the ancient mountains,
long across the futile fields.
On the other side of fraudful ponds
and frozen streams.
Rooted 'neath the deceiving mire,
here grows the tree of immortality.

Once thriving, with branches reaching the sky.
Now forgotten, it tries to hide the splits in its bark.

I sink down through the moss, and the further down I go
the more I feel its roots grip around my limbs.

Sick from evisceration,
the tree has treaded into a never-ending wither.
I am pierced by its roots,
and it drinks the liquid exuded from my wounds.

My mind is weakening, the loss of blood takes its toll.
The tree can no longer nourish.
In my last moments I mourn the drying tree.
Never again will it flourish and reach for the sky.

As I am ending the tree is treading back,
into its never ending process of withering.

Immortality only means to be dying for eternity.

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