Ashbridge

I smell blood here.
I smell the chopped trees
The caged nature.
The roar of the city a far cry from the desolate howl of the loon.
You'll see no heron nested in these trees.
We have delivered death
And destruction.
The walls we have built to call home have devoured us,
Empowered us to strive past survival to luxury
Waste in the haste of life
We're to young to appreciate until we're to old to care.
Dead aristocrats buried here
Given a gift of land that should never have been received
We brought the European disease of private land ownership overseas, hacked out 100 acres with good intentions and a sense of need,
Breeded till we depleted the soil far as the eye can see.
From sticks and stones
to concrete and steel
Our flowers are shorn for maximum appeal, all so splendid it can hardly be real,
All so real it can't last.
If this tomb tells you anything, it is the future moves fast,
And the end we seek will come at long last.
Uninvited as the truth.

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