Old Forest

Pulp. Sap. Capillarity, Fruit.
Leaves. Bark. Old Forest, old roots.

Inhales, in place.
Expands, upswells.
Expels, no waste. 
Divides, extends.

Water comes, Forest captures.
Wind blows. Forest sings.
Flames come. Forest sleeps.
Soot all, but no tears.

For laying in dark waits Old Forest.
Smelling the musk of new young lives.
Feeding the meals that’ll come, their bodies.
Will rot and submerge into fertile mound

For Forest to grow is to give others cover,
In Forest a multitude thrives, but not lasts
See, Forest’s not being selfless, a lover.
If Forest could feed on you, it’s Forest: you’re past.