Dancing trees diseased with ache will fall but not at will
The blooming faces hold their graces tight before the kill.
Man-made blades destroy the natural, what a crafted mess
For greed and things we do not need, the irony’s a pest.
Multiplying every minute desperate to maintain
A selfish motto drowned in sorrow living it in vain.
Feeding demons, that we are, masquerades as fun
Living lives for weekend thrives believing that we’ve won.
Money dances, lustful prances, we do not grasp control
Blindly led and overly fed, we slowly starve the soul.
A lover here a lover there, distracted by the now
Instead of seeking for the why, we tend to search for how.
Arrogance and need for jewels for undeserving deeds,
Suffocates our breath of life and blinds our natural needs.
Opening the spirit eye and seeking for the pure
Gives us growth, a ray of hope, this I know for sure.