My Forest

The trees are screaming

The deathbed in the sawmill

Thousands of times they chop

The devastated land is ill.

They grind our family through machines

To shred our skin and make us bleed

Our ashes fly around

Warning all around of dangers far yet near

All our friends run and scream

Escaping the metal beast

Their homes destroyed and nowhere to run,

They’re cornered.

The trees are screaming.