deepundergroundpoetry.com

Humans

How many trees will you cut down
before you burn this planet to the ground?
How many fields will you upturn,
with roads ready for you to return?
 
My God, my Lord, it stinks of you,
oh damn, what hot, bleak residue!
You know, know what you do,
you'll bleed this Earth blue.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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