The kind happy plants bloom
The grass is sweet and sways
Trees smile, hundred of feet tall
Blossoms bloom, all is gay
The undisturbed of this day
Anchored to the ground
In hopes to stay
In this day
In the sunset
They know only what has shed them light
Only to be given their meaning of life by song
The song of the birds,
The beauty of sound, the calm air brushing about
The peace of the innocent they deserve
More peaceful then a candlelight created by man
And to be crossed by
The dreadful sound of footsteps
The dreadful sound of fire
The heavy crushing footsteps of the manifesting
Believing they are just walking through simply a field
The victims scream with silence.
As we build atop their land
The ignorant fools encumbered in indulgence
Is a horrible thing
Fools unable to see past what they can do to better themselves
Only to smell the sweet smell of the dead innocent but not see thier legend
Nature can only believe theirs a better place in the word.
Oh the anchored ones
How do they communicate?
How do they know?
Who will protect their sweet sorrow?
In who can understand the unknown?
Can we grasp their innocence?