Boneless faces on the boughs of trees
hang like leaves. They drip and slowly weave.
The wind is blowing. You can hear them scream.
The dead dream. The trees are lodged in stone.
Their roots were forged in lightning on the rocks.
The rocks are made of lava, flesh and bone
that has grown cold. The earth is void of green.
Spikes and faceless heads surround the scene,
severed heads that can not truly die.
A tower in the distance overlooks
this garden of once human travesty.
A window in the tower top contains
a shadow where the wizard moves his arms
and casts the spell that murders his humanity.
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