Beneath the haunted, blood-tinged dusk, I rose from earthen bed,
And watched as flags of countless kings were trampled, torn, and shredded.
They built their towers, cursed the skies, forged empires of hollow lore,
Then fell like blackened leaves to feed the roots of ancient yore.

The emperors knelt to kiss my bark, then turned their swords on kin;
Their prayers dissolved to smoke and dust, as fate reclaimed their sin.
I heard proud poets whisper lies, I saw the prophets weep,
For truth lay shallow as their graves—and none their sacred vows could keep.

Men etched their passing lives in bark, imploring time to stay,
Yet none withstand the patient frost that gnaws their marks away.
Each season claims another soul, yet still I stand to see
How mortals grasp at frail legacies while the aeons still shelter me.

Now dawn’s first light is veiled in ash, the land a mournful shroud,
The rusted iron monuments dissolve ‘neath weeping, wailing clouds.
They glorified their fleeting gods, chased the void through flame,
Yet wisdom stirs where silence breathes and softly speaks my name.

The wind of ages, griefs endured, and quiet dignity remain
Whispering through my leaves, a hymn steeped in time’s refrain;
To stand as all ambition rots, while earth intones its prayer,
My shadow guards its secrets, shared only with those who dare.

Mankind’s ruins hold me steadfast now, their follies bring me peace,
For in their end my roots find strength, and age grants eternal release.