When the tree rots from the inside, nothing can save it. Yet, because It appears to still stand, leaves still clinging to the limbs, boasting to prove they are still green, the people are fooled. Beauty is only as deep as the eye can see. Who would fight so hard to save such a tree, rotten from root to tree top? Who would fight to keep alive what is dying and leans towards death by the order of the universe? Who would refuse to give the tree an honest burial, a farewell to moon and stars? Finally, who would risk the lives of those who play and dwell beneath it, if wind should bend its knees towards the ground? Who would not, instead, fell that tree as an offering and plant a new seed, somewhere in dreams, somewhere in the earth, somewhere magical and and strong enough to withstand the sun and storms to come?
Soul in the machine 
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