Talking Trees

Photo by Arnaud Mesureur on Unsplash

The trees spoke to me.

The ancestors

spoke to me. They said

settler folks have no claim

to the land.

None whatsoever.

Photo by Darya Jum on Unsplash

Blood that had been spilled,

both yours and mine.

Nourish a land filled with

hate and horrors.

There is no place for idle

bystanders,

while amnesty for

people who chose sides.

Photo by USGS on Unsplash

Wombs of life become

wounds of strife.

Both you and I, know

too much rife.

Yet, no one sees, certainly

not those with

useless eyes.

Photo by Bacila Vlad on Unsplash

The trees bend to me.

They bend, for me.

Long branches caress

each other as,

roots beneath bury deep under

stretch far and wide.

Much like our

World Wide Web.

Photo by Jason Weingardt on Unsplash

Trees speak to each other.

I can sense that they

like us, have priorities.

Yet, their kindness feels

gentler, a more forgiving spirit.

Civil wars endure the gravest

losses. The tress,

they bear witness.

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

The trees, spoke to me.

The trees spoke, to me.

The trees spoke to me.