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 the many living,
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 speaks,
And small prints encrypted into the unseen souls
Of the invisible 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 our blinded eyes.
Loud buzzes, and noisy chainsaws, the tools of the terrible trade,
Rattling earthquakes and shaking shimmer the ground,
Now marked with despairing death and vanquishing.
Metal and machinery consume the last drop of peace, the
Piece that is not there’s for the taking.
Laughs, joking and smiles haunting the end of there days,
The cries and pmoans lost in the nasty translation of ignorant murdering.

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 heartbeat a rainbow of sunshine and peace, the aroma of
Heaven and fantasy filling the air and translucent breeze.

Run, run, as fast as you can because you will not get away,
Surrender your nirvana and become of the mortally wicked,
The unlawful reign, and rising army gaining.
Die, die, rest forever in the plaint blackness here,
The blackness of profitable plans, of violent sieges,
Of man’s swallowing and never-ending plague.