My weird book of poems...

Creatures

Little creatures fair and small;

scuttling like mice, being hunted.

Your faces were strewn with appal;

but, the lush forest seems blunted.

Are they responsible for this daring threat?

Or should we not be concerned, like them?

They are old and wise; maybe they and imposter have met?

With my four paws I ran swiftly;

seeing creatures tall and monstrous.

Even in the air, they do not smell pleasant,

for they walk in an unearthly manner, and talk with different tongues.

I have grown old and I now know,

these creatures' names.

They call themselves humanity;

and they are more stubborn and ruthless than I could ever believe.

They don't think like us

or look like us.

They talk in a different tongue,

and strange enough, they do not behave like us.

I still know the smell that I smelled 70 years ago,

the smell of burning wood.

The smell of destruction and death,

the end of the forest.

I saw how poisoned their minds are,

they only think of power and green blocks of paper.

They do not care for those they hurt,

they don't care how many lives their actions cost.

They are smart but stupid,

and ironic at the same.

They destroy;

to create.

They breed;

to kill.

They promise;

only to betray.

But most ironically of all;

They live to die.

And over the years I thought about humanity,

hate stirring slowly, in my animal heart.

I can say with pure distaste,

I am deeply ashamed to be a part of humanity.

We have driven many species to their end,

and only stopping when we are affected.

We have destroyed our natural home,

and gave birth to sickening creations called,

Machines.

My kind is ruthless;

destructive;

and clueless.

But I know somewhere, in my half-machine, half-tangled human heart,

we can change.

So that someday we can say,

we died to live.