There stands atop of a
Once verdant hill
A gentleman who
Speaks what no other will
In place of fisticuffs
And cracking of jaws
He raises his voice
To address those with saws
Addressing coldly
his then ignored pleas
Now, with quiet fury
Here thusly says he:
____________________________
"I am the arborist,
I speak for the trees,
And never have I seen
more sorrowful than these
Who once reached for the stars
Felled with such callus ease
Their carcasses burned
And their spirits released
At the whims of you cold blooded
Who kill as you please.
May the darkness that holds you
Pull you to your knees
And the memory of your names forgot.
Be pulled under the roots of
The ones whom you slaughter
And let your black heart
Be cursed down to rot."
YOU ARE READING
Flickers
AcakA bundle of blurbs. (from my pinterest comments) Vote for which to expand into full stories! Each of these bits and bobs, odds, and ends was inspired by a pin of a prompt, poem, or picture, so without the pin might make no sense 🥲 But I'm working...
