Blood-tipped Thorn

The world is a forest Of twisted trunks and brambles Ancient and serene In a swirling mosaic Of greens, mists and vines That mere primates can't predict But there's pain and death Lurking in the wonder And a tiny speck Perhaps one of many Red drops In an endless tableau This patient parasite Almost unseen, left here From the heart of a druid Ancient and primitive Traced back through time And laced with the poison Of misery That goes on and on From one to the next As tender skin is scratched By the thorn of man's weakness Limited vision Impregnates a new vein Passed on Forever the dominate gene Of a species that cannot correct itself Leaving a fresh blood trail And new ones are implanted A new generation Short-sighted words Left waiting In the wilderness of mankind