More For The Log Pile (Poetry)

If sap was scarlet
would they act the same
when every blade brought forth
a blood-red rain? —
each cut and slash was met
with nightmare screams
to haunt the woods
and spawn horrific dreams?

Why think the trees feel nothing —
have no fear?
they may not have a voice
that men can hear
so cannot beg for mercy
or reprieve
but suffer more than humans
could conceive

The spirit deep within
knows agony
and dreads the steady march
of butchery
the forest counts each fall —
more logs to burn
while all that’s green prays soon
war’s tide will turn

Spring leaves still in their bud
will never know
the gentle stroke of sun
or breezes blow
instead the axe will slay
the parent tree
and wild things mourn their loss
of sanctuary