and i'm going cry
i point my finger
where the buffalo
used to stampede
their dust blotting out the noonday sun
i clench my fist
at the farmers
plowing up the grassy prairie
until every acre is scoured black
i turn my mind
towards the pale sky
and scream my pain
what have they done to the sacred earth
how long
before we destroy ourselves
with good intentions to protect our world
from within our air-conditioned rooms
and over-heated palaces
our immaculate and nature-free asylums
our environment
is being devastated
in exchange for a pile of paper gold
unknown to the sun
meaningless to the wind
that can not buy the rain
or feed the dead
i feel like the mississippi
and i'm going to cry
-michaelandorf