The Sacrosanct Tree


Sitting on an alter
Out of reach
From you and me
Forbidden fruits are rotting
On the Sacrosanct Tree
Outstretched fingers
Skin tight at the tips
Less than perfect words
Fall on more than human lips
Unable to phathom
What we are reaching for
Our faith is running out
But we long for something more
Hungry for answers
We bend at the knees
Begging for knowledge
From the Sacrosanct Tree
Starving like dogs
Yet we refuse to see
Light never shines
Beneath the sacrosanct tree
We wither with pride
Unable to break free
We die under the shadow
Of the Sacrosanct Tree

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