Footsteps heard from the darkest and lightest groves a mile inside,
Echoing along the untouched path of luscious, beautiful green,
Broken and tattered branches scattered among earth's feet.
Changing the gentle and calm song of nature's heartbeat,
Stirs amidst the brush and scampers along the ridges and creeks,
All halt for the come forth of chaos and calamity.
Boom, boom, goes the men's thundering feet,
Dirt flung up from the soft soil, from the ground that shrieks,
And small prints encrypted into the unseen soul
Of the thrown aside and seemingly forgotten.
The silent, graceful swaying of the frightened trees;
Flowers from mere buds sprouting and waiting;
Waiting to see the world that they will never get to see.
The colony of the fresh, the ancient standing, the harmonic rhythm,
Stripped of the simple perfection that can't bestow human's eyes.
Loud buzzes, and noisy chainsaws, the tools of the terrible trade,
Rattle off noisy earthquakes and shimmer the unsettled ground
Now marked with despairing death and obliteration
Metal and machinery consume the last drop of peace, the
Perfect rhythm that beat to the heart nature thriving.
The cries and pleads lost in the nasty translation of ignorant killing.
Oh, the sweet melodies of the canopy up high, the wisdom
Of aging oaks and old creatures wide, trees and green that throw breathe,
The old sight a rainbow of sunshine and peace, the aroma of
Heaven and fantasy once filling the air and translucent breeze.
Surrendered, surrendered to the imminent vanquishing,
Went down in the palm of there black, filthy hands;
Struck down by the mind's of profitable murdering,
And incessant never-ending plans.