Tortured tree, I bleed with your aborted
Need to grow, to proliferate. Why must
Mankind, even with gentle wile, show red
Arrogance? Humanity’s red – flows rust.

Torture me; me, who bleeds hopes of rust. Where
Can we find peace, in a world gone mad? Bent
To fit society’s greed. Who now cares
Whether others are sated? Freedom meant

An aspect of sharing, of helping those
Who can’t cope with suppression of being.
How did politics kill compassion? Foes
We can name can be controlled. But, dying

Has become commonplace, innate instincts,
Now, seem hardly worth the bother of ink.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 8/10/04