Judas Tree
Contorted branches sting with pink,
rupture
through the pleading night;
all you are
is blood.
A trillion lives squeeze
through
the fronds
of your sweet betrayal; mouths
and all their silent supplications
hide
in the ruddy sanctum
where your florets curl
in remorseful profusion.
Our hearts can hardly bear to see you;
they leave our chests
to hang like things speared
and holding
innumerable sorrows,
reprehensible travesties
that mark our place
in your care, until
there, in throats of soft dishevelled
hue, we stay
to wait for our salvation.
Contorted branches sting with pink,
rupture
through the pleading night;
all you are
is blood.
A trillion lives squeeze
through
the fronds
of your sweet betrayal; mouths
and all their silent supplications
hide
in the ruddy sanctum
where your florets curl
in remorseful profusion.
Our hearts can hardly bear to see you;
they leave our chests
to hang like things speared
and holding
innumerable sorrows,
reprehensible travesties
that mark our place
in your care, until
there, in throats of soft dishevelled
hue, we stay
to wait for our salvation.