Green Death
Here once stood a deep and ancient forest
"Produce, Produce" went the cry and it
was lotteried to ruble. Aliens, full of promise,
set to breed when rocks could not feed the blood
The green curtain creeps slowly upward, dimming the light.
In light or shade, the insatiable thirst grows,
swallowing all before it. What happens when
Master becomes Slave and all your
restitutions lay at the bottom of the gulf?
Unencumbered the dense velvet chokes off the air.
Our ancestors dug deep roots and stretched
tall to seek the sun. Our roots cling tightly to
shallow rocks as we filter poison in the dark.
Felled by good intentions, we remain.
Silent towers, mute watchmen,
Fodder for beetles and flames,
awaiting the end
Submitted as part of Monday Poetry Potluck
