Dead trees
New logs
Ready for the burning
Within
A heavy yearning
For heat
Forests
Now deplete
Can't see the wood
For the trees
A fundamentally
Human disease
The logs
Float along
Like driftwood
Awaiting
The lick, and flick
Of flames
Where soon
They will be no more
Than ashes
Floating
Along the cool Autumnal air
Forgotten whispers of smoke
That nobody spoke
Of the dry wood
Now drifted
Into shifted echoes
Of their afterlife
Floating on the air
Of our existence

by Jemia