Saplings in the Hands of Man

Washing my hands in dirt,.
I am but a wonderer getting the clean off,.
Feeling too new to just walk through without being noticed,.
Just a lost soul with a heart of gold,.
Punished by the misgivings of suggestions on the billboards,.
Advising us on how pretty we all must be to live in this artificial world,.
Pretentiousness is our God,.
On my hands and knees,.
I worship the land that was wasted by our hand,.
And the thoughts and misgivings of man,.
I worship the trees that breathe for our sake,.
Just for us to turn our backs; destroy and take,.
If there was a way to reverse our mistakes,.
I would still wash my hands in the soil,.
Maybe to see a sapling sprout and make it worth while of all our struggles.,,.,.,