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Tall Trees
Atop the tall trees we can see
a bird's eye view of misery
gun shots disperse and echo
throughout eternity but the blood
is washed away by midnight,
We can see into Heaven's window
but the reallocation of wealth and
superiority leaves me to believe that
the address is now vacant
with a new garden of paradise in the works,
This one of course being hell
with every baby born a new sinner
from a previous life of consenting agony,
From atop these tall trees we pretend
that they're our own high rise penthouses
and no, we will not let you up, or in,
On the ground sounds best for your feet
to remain planted or rooted to the soil,
We throw stones at other branches
to shake off intruders who beg and plead
for us to stop shaking them off
or impeding their tresspasses against us,
We've grown tired of the world
not the natural one I can remember
from when I was a child too young,
We grew up and away from the earth
and they taught us it's not about the trees
it's about the suffering for paper printed from,
But no photosynthesis can save me from saying
these sharp sentences from ire stored in seasons
of distant unrest now made clear by present aggression,
Consider this then that from atop these tall trees
these lines should be our confession
sincerely, from atop these tall trees
