WILL THE STORM CLEAR?
It is raining.
Cats and Dogs.
Mice and Rabbits.
The lightning reveals
The etched bark
Of an old oak tree
Glistening and shimmering
Waiting to be seen
In a new light.
See the tree.
Feel the bark.
But only after the storm clears.
Else that horrid
Blameful bitch
called lightning will strike you down
and feed off your searing skin follicles.
Take an umbrella if you will,
But watch that slippery
Slate path
As you meander to the tree.
The tree of lighthouse proportions.
That tree of goodness made.
Feed off it and do not let it go.
Take all the fruit you can.
Nothing for anybody else.
Because you are yourself and everybody is yourself.
Let them die systematically.
The tree is forbidden to those of good health and faith.
It is shameful to go there.
Leave the tree. Leave it alone and forget about it.
Stay indoors.
Yes, it all seems pointless.
"Because it is".
Says that man who has eaten the fruit.
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