Decay

As my eyes search,
I see a figure blossom from a distance,
Sweet red,
Wandering through the hollowed branches.

I was there too.

Although there arrived a problem,
Some cliff of separation,
That the crack went on for miles without end,
That I had pondered upon the decayed plant life around me.

I wondered about my whereabouts and where I was to go next.

I decided to look around,
Placing down my hands against the edges of rotting wood,
Came across a plank,
Carved with small lettering within the birch.

I had no knowledge of this the letters made out.

I had placed the plank down,
Falling against the other end of the cliff,
And looking beneath the plank I had seen all the pain that could be Inflicted upon me,
But I had faith in the structure of the plank,
Dented small lettering making word trust.

As I had walked across the plank,
The red-tinted illuminance from the figure spread,
That I had tapped the shoulder of the figure,
Wishing they turn around for conversation.

And they did.
I was encountered with a set of eyes,
And standing against the ground of decay,
The green reminded me of what everything was before the disfigurement,
And before it had all withered away.

You gave the world some color.