The Seeds

Beneath the earth,
I've been born of stone;
a naked golem,
the skin of dirt.

And I was clothed,
in the hate,
the ache,
of heart beating apples,
black rot,
falling off the minds of men,
from the branches of their minds.

And I was fed,
the flowers growing,
blooming;
I would feast,
I would consume,
taste their life
a dark seed
rooting in the base of my spine.

And I would grow,
swim in the river,
flowing,
from the mouth of God.

From my skull
rises,
the forest of death,
for wanderers,
past the edge of humanity.

They cultivate my mind,
their hate and
their sadness,
and I love them all...