Purple orchid rolling fibres,

coalescing in the first light of the day,

against the hellish blazing eye,

peaking through the mountain forest trees,

 

A dewy drop of quintessence,

fragrance still and stagnant,

growing from the decaying carcasses of insects,

digging and twisting through the shallow cracks in valley rock,

 

Cold winds, and harsh rains,

ripping at leaves and roots,

only a smidgen of life on the barren grey,

Yet a hand grips the bottom stalk,

 

Brown thick gloves stained with weather and dirt,

protruding leather fangs from the black woolen coat,

of a sneering vampiric creature desperate and ravenous,

claws stuck with mud and blood, eyes reflecting mountainside,

 

Rupturing xylem and phloem,

the thorned hands rip through,

depositing the suffocating poison,

of wanton loathing disgust,

burning the air, boiling the innocent dew,

 

The monster sulks away,

a black shadow on the bluing mount,

barren and left to nothingness,

a valley of death, and dying,

 

The rare flower struggles to bloom,

rapidly shedding pedals as they crumple to brown,

sucked dry of life