Blade of Grass

Open eyes feign closed whilst voices pierce the air.

None can hear them, soon we all will listen.

Quaking calm dissolves sorrow‘s silent screams.

A lone blade of grass; proud inheritor of prophecy.

Inside its frail, lucid casing, all history has gathered;

Truth‘s cryptic masterpiece; nature’s forced epiphany.

No tree, nor forest, printed, can fathom Grass’ proof;   

Earth’s cached library; ingrained in purest pact;

Man’s touch the sole proprietor of revocation.

A given chance, however, laid within the fervent soiled;

Their life sacrificed to relay Mother’s message.

Unfortunate, for man, so few have learned her lessons;

An impairment cultured by technological naivety;

Whilst withered beauty strains to speak salvation.

Green ears dawn absent blindfolds; deaf to static warning;

The meager unrestrained infected by automated cancers.

Mankind’s innovations decay attempts at warning;

Oblivious advancements denying true fruition.

Their chance dissolved as shrills were made reserved;

As Father spoke to grass, Man must beget its fate.

Calamity shall advocate nature’s compulsion,

As the philosophy of grass endures its predicated apathy.