Money, money, they’re all in it to win it.
Am I supposed to believe
This printed paper is worth something?
Like robots we roll through the industrious streets,
Ignoring those around us and focusing only
On what we need to buy with what’s in our wallets.
I want trace back my roots and gather what the Earth has given us,
Collecting wild berries, nuts, harvesting crops and breathing the plentiful oxygen.
Forests are the remnants of this once new born planet long ago.
If only the same compassion burned within us,
As factories burn material which in turn emits toxic fumes.
She is dying, and we know it, but ignore her cry for help.
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