Wilting

Most of my poems just flow while i write. This is an example

In the forest lies a weeping tree,
Whose branches fall toward the earth
Like eternal tears.

Deep in the forest,
This tree is found, far beyond
That of which modern man has explored.
In a clearing that won't allow light,
No matter how strong the sun
shines bright.

The bodies of Kings, Soilders,
And others lay underneath,
Ensnared by the tangled roots.
Kings of Kings and warriors stronger than
Any have tried to conquer
The infernal, wretched thing,
To no avail.

If I were to try to tear you apart,
Wicked one, with your sobbing
Limbs, would you overcome my,
Sanity and leave me in a mindless life?

If I were to cut at the roots
Of such a sorrowful soul would I
Become wicked and sad as thou?

Would the vines grab hold of me,
Pulling me deeper and deeper,
Under the mighty trunk of yours?

Oh great weeping tree,
Would you rid me of my sanity,
And leave me trapped in a selfish mind?