Riveted in ones own,

We breathe an unfathomable life,

Its petite veins working all day in strife.

Spirited in the reverie,

A morsel of reality a livid beast,

Behold the path of destruction,

To say the least.

Tangled in the eras,

The chlorophyll beckons recognition,

Slipping away as ashen smoke bellows,

From the vehicles’ ignition.

The dead leaves deluded,

Scream for reverence,

They ask the crimson blooded,

For a shred of benevolence.

Nowhere to escape,

Alas the mighty green beacons,

Aim to take the final stand,

Against the contemptuous puns.

Their disposition ever so polite,

Mowed down without putting up a fight.

Is it not their right?

So scream,

Scream about their plight.

Let the world dawn,

To free them out of the vicious bite.