The hill screams to me,
jostling me into a day dream.
It hides behind our industrial scars,
But still fights us.

Trees, burning in flames,
Drown in a black, gaping river,
Dotted with metal killing fish.
Choking the hill,
Killing it,
Slowly.
Slowly.

The river melts away,
Revealing a beautiful blanket of green.
Lush, rich, beautiful, green.
The hill, alive once more.

But the river can not melt,
The fish can never die,
And the hill
Suffers,
In silence.