Leaves of Trees

A row of trees lines the family farm,

that was subdivided into more harm.

The land that no one can own,

will once again become our home.

For if we are to believe in what we see,

then what we hear is what we need.

Nothing is forever,

while something is our new lover.

In the real world, one plus one equals three, 

if “they” can see the forest through the trees.

If “they” cannot, then they will not feel relieved,

for the one who knows, is the one who bleeds.

If “they” cannot, then they will not breed,

for it is the slave who is looking to be freed.

If freedom is what it means to be retired,

then why not become morally bothered?

As the leaves and the seasons change,

the more we see rages cage.

If history is anything,

it is settling

the score

of more.