The mountains shed their rocky skin,
Earthen tears fall down their mighty face.
The ground rips its heart apart,
Quaking mightily with its grief.
The trees stand shakily, losing their leaves,
Though they desperately seek to keep them.
And as the wind runs swiftly through the forest,
With the news it has to bring,
The leaves whisper frantically, panicking,
And cast themselves off in maple suicide.
The ocean rolls over in its watery grave,
Tossing and turning fretfully.
The waves crash bitterly, angrily,
Casting themselves against the sand.
The sun hides its face 'cause it cannot watch,
And the clouds cry out their grief.
Swirling cumulus, cirrus, and stratus,
Bumping, crashing, shoving each other.
Lightning shouts thunder from puff to puff,
As the wind's wrath spins twisters to the ground.
The rivers run in their strength to the sea,
Spreading the word farther into the deep.
The raindrops scatter themselves through fields and hills,
Then rush back quickly from what they have seen.
The flowers fight through rocks and steel for just one chance
To see a light that scorches them before they die.
The whole earth's body is writhing and shaking,
Heaving and groaning with the awful pangs
Of a birth long in coming, of a death long in staying,
A disease, an infection that stifles its growth.
The people that set on this earth's mighty face,
The ones for whom this house was built.
They flow through the crevices of steal and of stone,
And bend to fit into their own tiny niche.
They roll through this universe that was made just for them,
Blow through an existence fine-tuned for their comfort.
All the while raining pain and suffering
On their fellow human beings.
They come from tiny seeds and onward
Without the smallest hint of life.