The trees sway their limbs in an eldritch dance
The wind whips the leaves so they clatter
And shake
They groan and they creak to feel the weight of the whistles
Upon their arching backs,
Yet never shall they even once think they might break,
As the bodies of the silent men they shelter under unwitting boughs
Never a thought except for their melodic burden.
The sea stirred the rage by the howls
And the sighs and the moans
As the wind touches the aching dry skin of the rocks,
The jealous waves stir and beat foaming fists on their rugged bones,
And spray and spit and snarl in anger,
And finally, wear away to the finest sand,
Pitted with skeletal remains the envious beast paid no heed of;
When the unwilling living give their last to the ocean's might.
The rain spins and twirls and plunges to its ecstatic end,
Each drop to join its fallen brethren crowded within grooves,
A thousand fallen splatters for a thousand fallen men
The soil beneath stirs and weeps for the death
And the ochre and the human blood shed
The wounds torn in one hour what a century would scrape,
What man has done, will do.
Collateral damage is never a concern,
When man's hate and thoughtless words became real pain,
And destruction is all wrought and
Finally will be wrought upon,
Those unwilling and unwitting,
And those who tried but could not help against the taint sown by existence itself,
Nothing can be done but for what has been done,
Century upon century,
Until all is consumed and devoured by a thousand slathering breeds of fire.
