What else to do than think about the trees?
Thinking is like a prayer for me.
Listening to their thoughts, listening to their feelings, pure thought, I gather, I gather. They inspire.
It is as if they cry and suffer:’soon only buildings’.
It is almost a congregation of agony I knows.
They think very slowly. They are like pure thoughts.
The remnants of old civilizations. The remnants of thoughts.
Through the immersion, even of the rain do they suffer.
Acid everywhere.
The mountain paths give birth to poison
Just as the humans give birth to venom.
It must have started somewhere?
How to bring back the equilibrium?
How to bring back the Force.
So I look at myself and think:’NO’.
‘NO’, this cant be so. This can’t be so!
I like thee, nature. I like thee. How to make a difference?
Oxygen was a hundred years ago so fierce. No need for
Masks, no need for crime, no need for empathy.
In rhyme maybe they can hear the hidden ones,
Whispered for them and to them. It is hidden in Poetry.
They think of the cars and fuels and people.
It must be ghastly, it must be poisonous.
Still they are untouched and whisper us the ways, the paths
In no right and no wrong.
They think of the people that don’t listen to them.
For they speak not, they whisper sometimes.
For they think not in right or wrong. They think.
Listening to their thoughts, they whisper.
So slow and deeply as they can about the future. What next?
Trees are like activists, but have no act, only thoughts.
They care what will happen to the birds and squirrels.
They care what will happen to the animals.
The birds are still chanting but hear them less.
Something must have changed. Obey to nature.
Obey to the force of nature I think to myself. I am but a Poet.
The trees are almost all cut, and when alive so poor.
Still I know that it makes a difference, to think through them.
Still I know that seeking peace through the trees gives them
Strength to be what they are activists. The bravest so far.
So they inspire me to think not in right or wrong just as the trees
Think, just as the Sky is slowly gathering too, as to be of help.
They have no weapons, they have no command, but thoughts.
So I think and the trees,
They lead me back to the right thought in not right and not wrong.
Sometimes Shakespeare, sometime Byron, sometimes Bukowski,
In no right and no wrong.
How they once stood up with strength and birth to the Sky.
How they are now almost ghastly.
Almost gone. They are no more what they were.
Today already past midnight,
It is as if I can’t fight, and try to find the concrete
Through right and wrong.
The soil was rich and so were we.
The trees they inspire me to bring back the Force.
The soil was rich and so were we!
http://www.everypoet.net/poetry/blogs/benoit4u/
