I am sitting here, under a blanket of trees, feeling the crisp air tickle my face, listening to the birds sing around me.

A raven flies by, squawking a high pitched tone, breaking the silence, and it felt like a protestor shouting one last cry.

The muse came and I wrote this piece. It isn’t in true poetic form, but when I have I ever written anything to code?

I hope you enjoy.

There are ravens in the air

Looking down on me

Perhaps plotting against me

For the smoke, the smog

Filling their lungs

There are bees near by

Buzzing, flapping, whispering

Their deaths are increasing,

But the yellow flowers are so ugly.

There is grass trying to grow

The soil has been tainted

It leaks with pollutants

And they brown as they die

The sea is churning and swelling, becoming

Angrier with each storm

Consuming body after body

Matching each death torn

From its waters

She will fight us one day

As the last tree is shred

As the last hole is drilled

When the mountains cry out

When the earth stands still.

Let it out... we are all listening.

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