Tree Wars (Poetry)

There’s tension in the air —
it grates upon the calm —
an echo of old wars —
the harshness of alarm

that crackles on the wind —
they are massacring trees —
does anyone else care —
or only me who grieves?

They are trampling the woods
and laying waste to green —
I hear the distant saw
rasping and obscene —

the metal’s growling voice
penetrates and chills —
the morning’s full of dread —
the horror of it builds...

As forest armies fall
their grinding fills my head —
the concrete deserts move
to bury what lies dead.