Feathers of paper,
In piles we come,
To give a sense,
Of sanity and sanitation.
Made of trees,
That stood tall,
And towering,
We are here.
For sliced into,
Nice slim sheets,
Prodded and packed,
Feather white we are.
Through us,
You feel clean,
From you,
We feel filthy.
The two sides of,
The coin don’t match,
Anyway anywhere,
And anytime.
For every one of us,
There is a tree,
That cries a cry,
Of lifelessness.
Life becomes a piece,
Of white, soft, sleek paper,
And you don’t realize,
While you suck it away.
Wake up, wake up,
Everything matters,
Every action and inaction,
Save Earth to save yourself.
—
Previously published on medium
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Photo credit: by Krzysztof Hepner on Unsplash
