Under the smokestacks, shadows run tall

Hidden from sight like blind insects we crawl

Back to sleep, kept awake by the thought of a thousand trees...

No longer weeping in the gale

No longer soaking in the swill

Felled and shipped off to the mills

Replaced with bunkers to crest the hills

So we sit by the hearth

Empty palms outstretched, seeking a warmth

We were taught should be there

Instead feel its absence etched into our bare...

Frostbitten hands, cradling exit wounds

Our weakened bodies, tired minds, will be released soon

Like prints in the sand: washed away at high tide

Returned to dust. Faded from memory

Burnt lungs, parched tongues

Constricted throats wheeze silent songs

These bloodshot eyes close one last time

As a hungry mouth tastes the poison