Under the Oak Tree

I'm not sure about this poem and I don't want to ruin what the message is. Please tell me what you think and I'd particularly interested to see what you make of the message that I'm trying to give out. I won't be upset if you're just plain confused.
Criticism welcome :D
Happy to return the favour :)


1. Under the Oak Tree

Perhaps through hallowed sunlight we'd go, 

To the place where swollen youth would blow, 

Where innocent sins in dreams were free

And loved, we were, 'neath the old oak tree. 


And across fractured skies the stars did creep, 

Aphrodite's angels sang lovers to sleep. 

And together we went, love, from the world we were kept, 

Heart-in-heart, under the old oak we slept. 


Do you recall, dear, how the zephyr did stir?

How each capsule of dawn was a crescendoed blur?

And now, my love, do you think of me?;

From where you lie cold, far away from our tree. 


When tides of black shadows with wings ablaze 

Uncovered our haven, our sacred gold haze, 

Smothered were the Cherubs that sang us to bed

And we watched the leaves burn, love; our oak tree was dead. 


And through the charred boughs, bitter embers did glow

So we buried our souls where youth used to blow. 

White skies curdled and thickened with blood, 

Each Lark call slashed; only echoed in mud. 


Ashen Enchantments fell apart in grey shrouds, 

They found us hidden 'twixt the veil of dead clouds

And blew gunfire in your heart, hollowed and mild:

And took with them a monster: a Man, not a Child. 


Rotted Life coursed through willows and pearl streams,

Poisonous echoes of childhood dreams, 

Shadows of letters from grown-up days, 

Broken promises of eternal youth, cold in dead haze. 


You forgot the old oak tree by the fairy dale,

Replaced by a dead land, where victory is stale. 

But your heart's gunfire engulfed you- did you think of me?

For I died too, that night, 'neath the old oak tree. 


Perhaps through hallowed sunlight we'd go, 

Top the place where swollen youth would blow, 

We are mere mortals, a price on our days...

And we'll love under the old oak tree, always. 



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