A broken land

I swallow mugs of mist
topped with hints of morning dew
inhale the intricacies of nature
while the branches grieve the passing
of their abandoned homeland

There is feast consuming the gift of foliage
once abundant upon the lips of animals
a famine cultivated by the hands of humanity
the delusion of gain and prosperity
warped like patterns of demise upon the heads of old tree stumps

The blades of blunted knives
once carving the initials of young lovers
upon blossoming bark
are now chainsaws and axes
professing a deep desire for agendas and quotas

We are the ailment of our stifled breath
disappearing with the fortunes of flora and fauna
subdued by machines of the future
in endless pursuit of innovation
no longer able to choose between creatures and creations

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