While urban life is convenient, I prefer life in the mountains. Less absurdity there…so I believed.
I sometimes wish I could pray
so I could blame a god for this horror.
All trees gone or dying,
All homes lost or hiding.
A horizon too broken,
Its old trance diseased, rotten.
I no longer wonder why
my universe is a forest of words and howls.
How can I?
There is no forest anymore,
because Prometheus stumbled here
and I paid the price for it.
© Cat and Moth Writings
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