Wood-Wide Web Poem by Mark Heathcote

Are we any different than the wood-wide web?
Do we attract what we fear and imagine?
Oh, I feel a shortage of breath.
Oh, soon, I, too, might be dead.
Oh, is there a phosphorus flame this morning?
Ignites spontaneously in the air.
Takes us all one waxy yellow unaware
Oh, is this life a spider's lair?
And if it is, oh, why should I struggle?
Why should I even care?
Surely then we're all going to meet again,
Spring back from this mixture of oil and dirt,
The roots, from whence we all came
In the wood-wide web, there hasn't been a name.
And even black holes are now believed to operate the same way.
But it's difficult for layman or scientist to explain.
Simply put, it's as though everything has a core.
Some combine to form an indestructible soul that's never lost.
Not even when it's turned to ashes and dust.
So if I'm a falling tree, darling, don't worry.
I'm just a wood ring in the history of the universe.
I'm just a black hole that'll have a one-day nucleus.
Another expletive song of nothing, oh,
an encore from my own blackened chard heart.
And some people might even mistake it for gold.
A sun-going supernova, darling
I'm sure you know now how I'm feeling.
Even when I'm close to despair - I know you'll be there.
Because just as water has a memory.
Three elements: I can't be destroyed
as long as I have you.