A stained earth

The sun, a brush of burning gold,

Paints shadows on the quiet, cold.

A canvas vast, of hill and plain,

Stained by the ghosts of human pain.

The silent earth, a masterpiece,

Where buried bones find no release.

Each ridge, a rib, each valley's curve,

A fractured line, a final nerve.

The river's flow, a tear-streaked streak,

Across the land that can not speak.

The green grass sprouts, a hollow plea,

From roots of those who used to be.

Cold be the hearts of the many we lost,

For the life we live together is what is cost.

Earth is now a canvas of human corpses,

We disintegrate back as it repossesses.

The world breathes deep, the silence grand,

A peaceful hush across the land.

No concrete scars, no smoke-filled skies,

Just whispered winds and nature's cries.

The world breathes deep, the silence grand,

A peaceful hush across the land.

No concrete scars, no smoke-filled skies,

Just whispered winds and nature's cries.

We saw the forests fall like weeping hair.

(So unfair)

And built our cities on a gasp of air.

(There's nothing there)

We choked the rivers, turned the oceans gray,

Then, I wondered why life had gone away.

(Gone away)

We hear the ghost of every burning tree,

The final, silent hum of every bee.

The shattered shell of what was once so grand,

Now lies a ruin in our trembling hand.

We dig our graves, a shallow, hollow plea,

In soil, we poisoned for eternity.

A monument to all we couldn't save,

A world we lost, a gift we can't unpave.

And in the silence, we confess our shame,

And whisper to the earth we can't reclaim.

We are the poison, and the grief, and all,

The architects of our own final fall.