S.T.I.C.S Poets - Natural Death

Natural (death)
As the clouds gently weep,
Drops drizzle down softly,
Tears hit the seemingly unforgiving hard ground,
And earth soundlessly as if to say: I’m sorry.
And when we’re sound asleep,
Water escapes between the dry cracks hugging the heavens condoling it with a soothingly rhythmic symphony splish, splat, splash, as if to say, it’s not your fault we tried,
Trees that rested on emerald green grass now lay naked outside, raped,
Reaching desperately towards the sun in attempt to escape,
Violently thrusting their arms spitefully after us, as their pleads can be heard through the angered winds,
As if to say: don’t touch me,
Shattered white glass covers the pavements and empty rainforests, enslavement, powdered pain,
Reminders of the life that was, that didn’t remain, engraved into invisible epitaphs, questions like,
What do you bring roses when they die?
From mass genocide, deceased, bitter, cold and murdered, as if to say: ill never forgive you.
Daffodils used to dance,
And daisies romanced with other plants and flowers in the quiet hours,
Clapping their hands,
To songs that the nightingales sang,
Under the nostalgic old oak tree,
That told old jokes, and ancient folk stories,
For all to hear,
Enchanting tales that the birds and the bees passed on,
Legends so funny that even the weeping willows laughed hysterically, panting, leaving them in tears of joy, breathless, but now they all lie here lifeless.
They tried to move mountains now mountains move them, with less difficulty,
Eruptions like they’ve lost their patience, shaking heads like concussions,
As if to say: you need to stop!
But we never stop to need,
Sap is thicker than blood, they too bleed,
And never have we seen such love that they have for us, they renounced their lives to give us time, breathe in, and you’ll hear, as if they’re saying: please,
Some remember back to the days where leaves left, because thieves met, and devised a way to steal our future, fog our memory so we’d forget,
I recollect when I used to collect shells by the seas, gifts from the marine species, and kisses from the ocean breezed, it was magical, but now all we see are dry spells
We should have drastically changed like the weather before forecasts seized the sun, and casted shadows so dark that the sun ceased to shine, as if to say, I give up.