We Are Wrong

White powder
falling from the sky
a facade of cold,
no more than a lie.

Somewhere in the distance
flames burn so free,
mapping destruction
in the wake of trees.

Nature never asked
for this dreadful ruin,
at the hand of men,
ruthless tycoons.

What more will be left
of this scorched earth?
What will become
of Mother Nature’s birth?

When is it too late
to repair what is gone?
When do we realize
it is we who are wrong?

© Autumn Siders 2018
We Are Wrong

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