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