I look upon the Life
Upon the Tree of Life,
The Tree turned a mirror
Likened of quicksilver.
I look upon the mangled corpse,
Mangled by my guilty hands,
I look upon the Tree
Reflecting what remains of me.
Once I was one, or so I
Have the sense that I am meant to be.
I look upon me, the Tree, the corpse
become my Sin, fruit of the Tree.
I am twisted to the last gasp of His vitality
where none are around and I am disoriented.
I am turned away from my tree,
I am turned only in on me
to see my shadow, the darkness
cast ever longer over the crowd at sunset.
I cannot turn, I cannot see to see His face,
I only see His Tree, His corpse–
My sin, and me. I cannot turn to see my tree
but feel the nails in my hands as my eyes fall dark at last.
He did not set me free, he must not be who he
was said to be, he must never remember me.