This world was haven once,
and life was destiny
to be written
and remembered.
And then the ground broke,
and everything fell apart.
Where forests stood
now stand concrete.
The taste of fresh air
is now stale and congested.
Dreams loved the silver lining
on clouds now grown dark,
and nature suffers,
weeping still
from what she lost.
This world is locked
in a vice
that we call our own,
and all those
free to roam
now run toward extinction.
Ghosts are left behind
in fearful eyes of the ones
hoping that we do not steal them away
from life,
from this world,
but we still hunt.
No satisfaction lies within hunger of human nature,
and extinction is our end result.
But what will happen when time comes
for us,
and nature with all her fury
unleashes all her spirit upon us?
Will we too fade away,
or will we realize this world
once a haven
is now being destroyed
by us
because we never seem to get enough
of the hunt,
of shopping malls,
or endless searching
of trying to make this world
our own?

Wet Soil Beneath My Hand
by, Melissa R. Mendelson