Dead friends
When the clearing grows wider than the forest,
When the primeval beings become dead space,
When desolation fills the heart of the artist,
Then perhaps humans might reverse their pace.
I have been missing you, my dead friends.
You were the muse that had made me see
That the world was not built out of aesthetic sense
But from a chaos linking earth and sky: trees.
Some nights I dream of your trunk, bark and leaves,
I witness the wonders that your foliage shelters.
Some sights show me your beings being heaved
Out of earth by the human eraser.
That's unbearable to see a forested place
Being exterminated for money reasons.
It's a war that leaves me out of space,
Confused, lost, in ethnocentric season.
