​

They say the plants rustle against the violent winds

As fire consumes each dwelling which illuminates the flag of enmity

Against the pale light of the hopeful moon and the many foreign stars

They lust for the colors of their own atmosphere

The one which was taken by nobody but themselves

 

​

And they speak of weapons which have capabilities beyond that of nature

Beyond that of imagination

Beyond that of sense

And children speak softly to nothing at all

But they speak of the death so vibrantly pasted into their skulls

 

 

They see the smoke as it rises into the lonely night air

And drink in the tantalizing breath of life

As if the cold air is their last sense

For they know it might just be that

The last breath of life; the last flicker of light within their soft eyes

 

 

Stolen away

Just like that

 

 

Machines who require death to live

Extraterrestrials who value nature more than their own lives

A pair of creatures doomed to brew hatred lasting menial

Yet could so easily be restored with tongue of peace

 

Why do they not see the truth?

 

 

​

Something so fragile

Yet so wasteful

​