– Baleful Basilisk


It was lush and green,
I gazed on with bated breath.
It was calming to stop my mind,
To blindly believe, in the roots’ depth!

Its leaves were green after all,
And the trunk well-grounded, seemingly.
For a few willful seconds,
My mind, silly child! Believed its immensity.

Such faith as I have never found,
In a faintly rotten-smelling ground.
The voice of the wind, lingered,
Ripping apart the covered lies.

I had nobody to blame,
This was my own special form,
Of self-created, delusional pain.
Born out of childish necessity.

And so, as I finally allowed,
My eyes, by now, half-crazed
To view the entire perspective,
My mind reeled back in shock.

The roots I had never seen,
But its pinnacle exposed the entire story.
It was dry, hollow wood
Cracked and withered, with not a single leaf.

Its roots had died long ago,
The trunk had but been lifeless glory.
And I, a mere impudent creature,
Struggling to find humanity.

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