The Ghost Forest

September 16, 2008
Custom User Avatar
The trees, they whisper of impending doom
Unheard over the grating sound of death
The wind they'll miss in all the gloom
Cool and calm, the comforting breath

They stand tall and still, unable to escape
They have no choice but to simply fall
Crumpling to the ground like a hopeless shape
A one-sided war, to kill them all

The trees sorely miss their familier soil
They dislike travelling near and far
Their departure definately sure to spoil
All living things for what they are

'Tis easy to see that this is wrong
They're pages that poetry is written on

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback