The eternal tree marks time immemorial

her branches grow boundless, twisting and splitting

each decision a new bloom, sprouting infinite finitude

her limbs know nothing of pruning nor clipping

but down in the deep recesses of her trunk,

where even the primordial dare'nt approach,

lies a blight.

The blight is malice incarnate, evil immortalized.

There is no reason to its destruction.

For eons it lays in wait, dormant, benign.

But not without leaving a lure.

The blight tends to the greed within the heart of life.

Within the warm grasp of its embrace,

lies a blight.

Blinded are the eyes of man who are held in its bosom

their sight is stolen, the tree fades from view

the blight awakens, devouring chronology

spreading, the blight consumes the tree

branches begin to droop, leaves fall.

but within that same corrupted heart of man,

lies a cure.