Ruin Poem by Thomas Ware

Picture an idyllic scene:
The sky is blue, the grass is green.
Birds are singing and happily winging,
Through the grounds; they fly around.
Trees and ferns are everywhere,
Freshening the air.
Squirrels race up and down the bark,
And butterflies dance and lark.
But lo, our paradise is marred.
I see... Naught but a mushroom.
Insignificant, yet it fills me with doom.
This fungous pest,
I cannot rest,
I walk to scrape it off.
But... As I blinked...
Now, on the tree, inked
In mold, there are two.
I hear hidden laughter:
I whirl, but the enemy is faster.
I turn back to the tree to rid it of blight,
But... Now there are five! A trick of the light?
I grab my knife,
But in my strife,
My finger brushes the growth.
Pain! Agony! Despair!
I gaze at the sky with glassy eyes and a vacant stare.
Darkness. It consumes the world.
I awake on hard rock.
I open my eyes, and faint in shock!
Back to consciousness, swimming back,
Still pain does my body wrack.
Tears fill my eyes.
What once was paradise,
Now in ruins lies.
Toadstools have overtaken my park,
Gripping and rotting the trees' ancient bark.
Shadows shroud my clear sky,
My menagerie has died.
My precious pond... Where fish and frogs frolicked in mud,
Now... Consumed by blood.
A spark of light,
My head snaps right,
And my heart sinks at the flame.
Rampaging, destroying,
This chaos bows to none.
I watch helplessly as my life burns away and when it reaches me,
It has won.
I fall into the dead warmth gratefully.