The Clearing

Darkness
Is it night?
Or is it just this place?
Sparse, stricken
Where nothing but twigs grow
From crooked trees
Skeletal, yet beautiful still
Curving, leaning, swaying
To and fro
Like an unfurling stretch
Petrified mid-flow
Etching deep hollows
Impregnated, dried-up womb
Lonely, dark, desiccated tomb

Guarded by that wondrous figure
Atop bare limestone rock
Wasted, stark, still
Yet lucid, controlled, knowing
Forbidding, forewarning
Commanding, prompting
Intrigue and desirous wanting
Forbidden, hidden, deep
Foreboding
Yet, one may enter at their will