Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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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.