Place of Ghosts

The emerald sea of foliage

covers the trees,

like a soft blanket.

The trunks are strong and sturdy,

an earthy brown-

sap oozing out of the chinks

in the trees' armour.

The sky is a delicate blue,

seemingly fluffy, ghost-white clouds,

swimming across the wide plain

of cerulean blue.

It is peaceful and lazy,

beautiful and timeless.

Years later,

at this place of before,

it has changed-

dramatically,

to a place of ghosts.

The moon lies guard over

this scene of desolate desecration.

The flourishing trees of old

have been cut down to pitiful stumps.

The sharp, green leaves are-

scattered uselessly over the

patchy, uneven ground.

Everything is dark,

shrouded in shadows,

lost in this world of the night.

I stare at this land,

and think-

What have we done?