The Last Tree (Poetry)

First the arrow then the axe
I’ve bled my share of amber sap.
They’ve carved initials in my skin
nailed a man — stretched pale and thin —
to me who bore the weight of him
and shared his weary suffering.

They’ve cut me — severed limb from limb
I’ve healed myself — drawn life force in
survived dark centuries of war
through endless seasons’ freeze and thaw
and now I’m old and gnarled and scarred
my trunk fire-blackened, bare roots charred.

Here stands the body they’ve defiled
I am this tree personified.
To older gods my spirit cries
for justice — may such monsters die
for all the greenwood crimes they’ve done
since earth’s blue planet cooled and spun.

I call down curses on their heads —
avenge my sisters burned or bled
those dryads cruelly brutalized
the land now empty as the skies
where ghosts of every toppled pine
still tremble at the chainsaw’s whine.

True punishment should fit the crime
their fate should be that for all time
men walk the barren earth they’ve made
in heat of day — no inch of shade
to shelter them and no respite
from all the bitter chill of night.

May all who dare to harm the trees
be felled in turn — brought to their knees
and feel the axe sink through their heart
know that most cruel and final part
as living warmth drains from the core
a spirit dies
                                and is no more.