• Our world screams.
    Its voice is small, ripples on an ear,
    whispering the truths no one wants to hear.
    Greens melt to gray in a hotter Summer's sun.
    Brown erupts and falls like no season before it,
    teardrops within tragedy.
    But at this, we still are blind.
    At this we choose deaf ears.
    For her, we feel no more.