The Hollow Tree

The Hollow Tree, of dead ground it formed life It's logs made of white bone and sulking tears A crow screech cutting like of the lost knife Deep blue sky not yet red of bleed of fear Gaping maw with bloody sticks on its trunk Indifferent to the gore that surrounds Standing towering in dark land itself Black vultures with long wings of black around The grudge the grounds keep on into oneself Shadows that loom like monsters at dusk Seething on the rotting limbs of the trunk Light does avoid forests of the rust The Hollow is only visited drunk In cursed planes Hollow thrives on lack of life Terrifying grow with no struggling strife (Fun Fact: Iambic Pentameter's unstressed-stressed beat is similar to that of a human heartbeat.)