What grows from soil soaked in cruelty and silence?
We grew in noxious soil and fed on dirt;
we yearned for just a moment without hurt.
Our selfishness ensured all felt abused;
every apple fell shrivelled and bruised.
Disease rooted us to our rotten core;
once infected we couldn’t be restored.
No shears strong enough to sever our twine;
those who dared to approach drowned in our slime.
Knowing the truth twisted and knotted our bark;
our leaves withered and fell into the dark.
Endless deceit aged and decayed our roots;
we felt diseased insects infest our fruits.
Destroyed by blades of hate and bad weather;
we knew neither compassion nor pleasure.
Worms and snakes coiled around happier times;
a tormented family with poisoned vines.
—H, still tangled in the roots
