The Sound of Trees Crying

Our days were shaded
translucent green,
watching the world through a veil
of sunlight streamed branches
and tilted trunks.

It's skin was crinkled and cracking,
beautifully scarred
and more alive
then I could ever be.

But humans have a problem with perfection:
they chop it up
and crack its layers.

Now there is nothing left but ground.

And it's cold, wet,
and raining broken limbs
through the middle of parking lots
and empty streets.

The wind is howling,
searching for chlorophyll veins.

Such loss of life.

Mother Nature has been dreaming in dew drops.
For once the world is still.

And now she cries.