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The world lies in a quiescent state;
Darkness robs even more of the light
from a planet
steadily growing colder.

Sounds of the breeze exhaling down the
spine of the Old Oak makes me
cringe. What's happened
to the songs of the forest?

This woodland heart, frozen solid by
Old Man Winter's icy fingertips,
sleeps peacefully
among lives that are on pause.

A bitter kiss from the old man's lips
and we are prepared for our slumber.
Eternal dreams
preface our resurrection.
If I were a mermaid,
I'd float out to sea.
If I were a mermaid,
I'd feel bad for me.
The oceans are scorching,
and we can agree
that the death toll is rising,
no hyperbole.
If I were a mermaid,
I'd beg you to see
there's no hope for your land
if you can't save me.
I fear that these
issues will ever be
plaguing this Earth
for eternity.
The frosty morning
caresses the summer-kissed lake
while the fish dance below the waves.
The harvest's breeze
tickles the fingers of the Oak.
How beautiful, the romantic
gestures of an autumn morning.
How cowardly it
is to hide behind the scenes
and play puppeteer,
while my children are starving
in the streets your Benz drives through.

How selfish it is
to ignore paying taxes,
while I scrape and search
for meaningless currency,
with auditors on my ***.

How luxurious
it must be to slumber in
silk and satin sheets,
while my unclad family
bunches together for warmth.

Oh, the nerve I have
to speak loudly against those
harboring every
cent, while there are thousands of
us without one to our names.
A demon masquerading
as the almighty dollar;
she is cunning,
and she is tricky.
She is beguiling,
and she is illusory.

Deceitful and avaricious,
yet believers follow
aimlessly. To have her
in your possession is
nothing like how it
feels to be stripped of her.

Those who succumb to
her seduction are granted
luxury and leisure;
the pledge to idolize
her mindlessly is
engraved into our brains.

Indigence, starvation;
the deprivation of the
green goddess is malicious.
Free yourselves from the hold
she has on you; from the
worldly power she possesses.
MONEY IS NOT EVERYTHING!
Her soft leaves tremble as
the clouds clash and collide
above, revealing their deafening
roar.

Tremors ripple through her,
beginning at her roots; the
poignant sky tears straight through
her rind.

Vicious tears fall from melancholy stars,
and she quakes under the bellow
of the outraged clouds; she is
alone.

Turbulent,
    irate,
        ferocious,
but she will remain.
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