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This would not be the time to be the Man,
And blunder through the forest heedlessly.
It's nearly silent underneath these soaring trees,
So unlike anywhere with men, and clamor,
And machinery. “We rule the earth,” we
Humans say. We tear its guts and scrape its
Skin. We fill its air with poisons, and we
Dump our trash into the sea, but here, with
No one else around, I feel the need to shrink
To fit the tiny space allotted me. The forest
Has its ways, which I feel I should treat
Respectfully. If it is quiet, I will be. If it's
Alive with gentle movement, that is also how
I'll move. I'll bank my clumsy cruelty until
I'm among men.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2019-06-28 at 18:01

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