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.