They stand,
huddled together,
tall protests that peirce the air;
With their shear beauty
they show reason enough,
they need no more justification.
And there, bleeding out of their mass,
mangled hunks mercilessly hacked from helpless trunks,
reduced to a pile of rubble, of rotting flesh,
filling the air with their putrid smell,
murdering the serenity with their own death.
And the perpertrators?
Long gone.
Their blades dripping with blood, oozing with evil,
their stinking motors,
all gone,
leaving only destruction and acrid smoke,
which can not be cleared,
swept away,
by the mass that was beauty,
destroyed by greed.