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.
Open eyes feign closed whilst voices pierce the air.