It spilled out,
from one horizon to another,
and torched the blanketed mountains,
with nothing left but a single tree.

The tree stood alone,
standing against the nothingness,
eons passing slowly,
until the tree turned to stone.

One stone tree,
in a courtyard of thought,
with the witness of me,
and an ability to do naught.

What then, is the purpose?
A stone tree,
alone with one witness,
with the end approaching brusquely.

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