Within depths of madness
corrosion seeps wildly...

Patches of darkness
linger upon an old country...

I've searched my soul
beyond the darkest dimensions...

By Ben Pickard and Maple Tree
A small acorn, from my nature soul...

I write of peace in darkness
making friends with demons...

By the river a tide is forming,
bathing souls of a wild flower...

The mortician bowed his face in a grin
for he never knew the power of magic...

I often fantasize about
Mary Jane's perfume...

Blackened hearts filter roses
with scattered thorns, tongues...

Pages upon pages of spattered ink
my heart hears nothing, yet feels...

She bathed in leaves of a fallen Maple tree
as the sun began to bid day, adiu...

Twisted markings etch the bindings
of a leather notebook, laced in red...