Our Pockets Are Deep Enough To Fill

The landscape turns beauty into a dying beast

It howls at the open mouths of seas

The keystone in an old archway

Crumbles as we speak

And there’s a big house on the top of the hill

That looks smaller up close

And the windows look unfinished

Because they have no frames

And we watch the stars as they are wishing that they could move as far

As we’d like to think

And the grass stretches out in front of us

And we feel as though we are intruders

We should be watching from behind curtains

The beauty is far too much for humans

To be at one with or to touch

The flowers know our plans

They are torn with greedy hands so they withstand the wind and rain but to passers by they just curl up

And so the outsides fade

Into a paler life-like shade

Shall we take it?

Take the fields into our pockets?

For they are deep enough to fill

Take the world apart to see what it is made of

Then write it up in a report

Then wonder what we did it for

The soil grows impatient

At the feet that it supports

The world turns in its grave

With every breaking dawn

Awakens from the day before

Every tree and field taken

Is one too many gone

Every creature of our land deleted

Every person that will do this

Is one too many

Every building that blocks the sky at right-angles

Every road built grey on green

Is one too many

And we are on the path to more

We must change the scene

We must change what humans we are being