A disease, terminally touched down
Wildfires forcing the fleeing of
wildlife unto the uncharted
From seeds into full-fledged trees
Overflowing forests causing confusion, preventing the singing
from flocks of varying birds,
now overwhelmed like the undertow of the distant ocean
Unable to pick a tree, to find a branch
How can anyone expect them to pick a song to sing today?
The sounds of their fluttering wings, tree to tree
and branch to branch
It is all lost in the breeze and the swaying
trees seem to mock them
Watch as the worried looks appear
within the thick outer skin of these trees
What if the birds start singing and bring forth
the buzz saws or the match strikes?
Their bark begins to howl out of their unwarranted worry and sorrow
They are mourning what still lives
They are mourning what still exists
There are no signs of anything different coming
There are no intruding or deafening footsteps
Safety surrounds these towers
but why can they not see?
Is it possible they smell the stench
flowing from the fluttering wings?
Standing firm while bleeding and barely breathing
The creators of oxygen are struggling
Or are they?
But who are they?
It can’t be only trees blowing in the breeze
Shaking before a sneeze
There is a haunting disease
Like the buzzing of bees
Complete with a physical sting
Making nothing into something
Say hello and scream goodbye
Bring it down and leave it high
The only option left is to try
and keep trying,
it’s passing, it is dying
Yes it is dying!