Children of the Hollow Grove

The mangroves hum with a fractured tune, A language spun by the waning moon. Shadows stretch where the ground is thin, A splintered grin where the dark drinks in. They speak your name in a tongue unknown, A sound that bends like a river stone. Eyes like cracks in a frozen stream, They pull you close to a waking dream. The roots conspire, the way unwinds— You’ve crossed a line you’ll never find. Caught in the breath of the forest’s throat, A knot of thorns where the lost take note. Voices unspooled, a threadbare flame, Drawing you near to the place without name. They were cast where the roots decay, Trapped in time, stripped away. Now they drift with a hunger vast, A chain of hands to pull you past. Their steps are carved in the ashen soil, A backward coil, a hunter’s toil. The trees conspire, the air grows thin— A labyrinth where the end begins. The roots conspire, the way unwinds— You’ve crossed a line you’ll never find. Caught in the breath of the forest’s throat, A knot of thorns where the lost take note. Voices unspooled, a threadbare flame, Drawing you near to the place without name. Step through the veil—no light remains... Follow the silence where shadows reign... The trees inhale, their arms uncoil... Your name is hollow, unheard no more... Bound in the breath of the forest’s throat, A knot of thorns where the lost take note. Voices unspooled, a threadbare flame, Now you remain where no names remain. The path dissolves... The roots reclaim... Another thread... In the endless frame...