Under the smokestacks, shadows run tall
Hidden from sight like blind insects we crawl
Back to sleep, kept awake by the thought of a thousand trees
No longer weeping in the gale
No longer soaking in the swill
Felled and shipped off to the mills
Replaced with bunkers to crest the hills
So we sit by the hearth
Empty palms outstretched, seeking a warmth
We were taught should be there
Instead feel its absence etched into our bare
Frostbitten hands, cradling exit wounds
But our weakened bodies, tired minds, will be released soon
Like prints in the sand: washed away at high tide
Returned to dust. Faded from memory
Burnt lungs, parched tongues
Constricted throats wheeze silent songs
These bloodshot eyes close one last time
As a hungry mouth tastes the poison