Can you hear her? Above the commotion of everyday life,
above the cell-phones and television banter. A drone
in the background, you all feel it. You all know it.
Yet for some reason no one acknowledges her, she who is
all around. No one hears her cries. She can feel
the shape of things to come in her bark-ridden fingers, in the
skies turning grey. She can feel it all, and it hurts. We are no longer
the stewards of her beauty. We are the pillagers, so rape
her for all you think she's worth, because
she will not fight back, and you no longer care.