Unspeakable Slaughter

 
It feels like a grave yard
Not even morning sunshine
Brings back the atmosphere
It can’t bring back the magic
The morning mist is no longer mist
It’s lying like a ground anchored gas cloud
It smells strange, like rotting vegetables
Beetles and spiders still scurry around
Bird song sounds like far away crying
The ground is covered by random rows
Of round wooden unmarked gravestones
It’s a mass grave affecting thousands
There is no memorials, no remembrance
No candle light vigil, so few tears shed
It’s such a place of sadness and death
Where Cash and Profit are King

It also feels like a hospital ward
A clinical, surgical ward for amputees
Lots of painful and bloody stumps
A place where the silent screams are audible
Where misery is the overriding mental state
Where hopelessness governs futures
A place where on-lookers thank god
But they just thank god it wasn’t them
It’s a place where butchery is regular
And rotting limbs are disposed of in fire
The atmosphere never changes here
The feeling of sadness is palpable
It feels as false as the plastic limbs
It’s such a place of sadness and death
Where Cash and Profit are King

Where is this place I know you’re wondering?
It’s a forest that is no longer a forest
Where corporate greed cares about nothing
Apart from their bottom line profit
It was them who ripped the heart and soul
From this living, breathing historical place
The ancient souls contained in the trees
Slaughtered and turned into throw away furniture
A forest of dreams, magic and wildlife
Reduced to thousands of gravestone stumps
The rape of the natural world writ large
Deforestation is not limited to South America
It happens in most countries of the world
Like a secret service operation
And like that: It’s gone!
It’s such a place of sadness and death
Where Cash and Profit are King