In nature’s cradle slowly drowning
Upon the moss they wait for breeze
In front and east, a snowy mountain,
And amidst the graves there are the trees
Surrounded north by Saiko Lake
obscured by Fuji’s hoary caps
A forest spawned from nature’s wake
With drastic change as time elapsed
Ensconced with caves of Ice and Wind,
and glazed in coarsened grit and ash.
The air as dense in shadow’s tinge
With fissures cleft by violent flash.
A maze of twisting trees and moss
A certain spine of tiered mishaps,
as bodies hung like forlorn dross,
their hopes of a real life kidnapped—
like a child’s doll, sordid and lost,
opened eyes gawked at hemp swung ropes,
Gazed up high at God, they accost
And explain to Him of jilted hope.
Each step beside them did bemoan
And felt as if though summoned home
The ground was coiled with chthonic stone
Each crag and root a sad syndrome
In flames blazed perpetual twilight,
Roofed by a mottled sea of green
they strode the path with string and light
And witnessed rope-like guillotines
They tied the strings to mighty boles
In hopes to end from where they came
To firm expose the heart and soul
Of Aokigahara ’s forest name.
Their minds did wander upon approach
As towards their backs a mountain faced
Their souls weighed down as they encroached
To tragedy and human waste.
A muted soreness beseeched the skull
And begged such hearts to turn around
They’d crossed the plane where lives were culled
where spirits fade without a sound.
Then dying suns sustained by strings,
began decent and edged on dusk.
And seldom swayed macabre sting
Laid unto ash where loam was thrust.
In piles were bleached and sharpened bones,
Gnarled like boughs they’d mingled with
An old flip flop and some undertones
forsaken in these monoliths.
They strode on paths, beneath the trees,
The ones bent in like canopies
Their bark misshapen from disease,
No sound pervades; no wind or breeze.
The woods were bathed in quietude
The chasms smoldered emptiness
The lonely pith of solitude
that stroked the lungs with heaviness.
Breaths became a roaring wheeze
in tacit blankets thickness loomed.
A muffled snow fell from the trees
In echoes like in different rooms.
No bird or deer had roamed its moss,
As though they shunned or feared the place
In rotting dreams some came across
a relic from the Lord disgraced.
Some followed other ribbon hues,
To end up near such blighted souls
Cross by cross with grave miscues,
These endless trees did take their toll.
Tis said, forgotten relatives,
Were dumped here like some parasites.
They looked so plainly skeletal,
And were led here as to reunite—
But mainly they were toss-away’s
A process labeled as ubasute
When usefulness had seen its days
They’d leave them there in solitude
And as they died in tainted soot
And altered into vengeful ghosts
Their minds a haunting resolute
Would lure those in and get them close
The forest then would take the weak
And sing to them a lullaby
The option became so widely chic
As death was standing so nearby
Though guides were made for suicide
And those woods was named the place to die
Most went inside to wane and hide
And disappear without a cry.