Uprooted

Butchered bark stumps litter the land Resembling small, sorrowful, wooden tombstones that seemingly multiple day after day, Each one bearing the unmerciful and grim carvings of haste and catastrophe.

Wood shavings mimic bloodshed of the fallen timber, Exsanguinated from the piles of uprooted comrades that rest afar. Their limbs dismembered forcefully from their trunks, While assortments of extracted leaves and sticks adorn them as they lifelessly rest.

A vast abyss of cleared, dull land resides next to the bloodshed, Stained by wood shavings, dried up soil, and scattered twigs. Scents of death pollute the air; rot, soil and ash all mixed up into one putrefying aroma, The site establishes a final resting spot well suited for uprooted and fallen trees.

"Excelent work everyone!" "Let's call it a day!" An ensemble of grim reapers dressed in orange commemorate each other with praises of gratitude and friendly pats on the back. Completely oblivious to the destruction caused by their hands as they leave it behind for just one night, Utterly ungrateful to the fact that their homes aren't riddled with devastation and bloodshed, Without a doubt complicit in the atrocities they have committed.

Terror, shock, helplessness, and devastation - but a few of the words I would use to describe being a mute, stationary witness to the endless catastrophe of my home, of waiting to meet my own demise. Nevertheless, I'll embrace my eventual fate with open arms when my time finally arrives, As death is a much more merciful and welcoming outcome opposed to this barbaric sight.