Natural Symphony

The blades of grass dance in the breeze,
Playing scales upon the dirt.
The cold air slices the landscape,
Like a flute invading a string symphony.
Bird song in the morning gives humanity a fake sense of reality.
A sense of natural beauty which is lost throughout the day.
The dead roots are scattered remains left on the battlefield,
That spends it's time reminicising over the war that murdered many wild, innocent and splendid organisms,
Through the greed of humans for power, energy and control.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading and reviewing my poem. I wrote this on the same night that I wrote ' Our Own Worst Enemy'. And, as always I'm open to any constructive critism you may have for me.

Reviews

[Blue Belle]

The first line, I think you mean "dance" instead of "danse." I love the third line and the personification of the air. Nice poem. Take Care! Stay Strong! :)

[Alone In A Crowd]

Thanks, and when I was writing it I had to stop and think about how to spell it, because I sometimes write it in French if it's close to the English word, but thanks for pointing that out to me.

[Cool Handless Luke]

Reminds me of a Robert Frost poem with a modern dark twist to it. I wrote a few war poems from my own experiences and I can relate to the empathy you capture and present. Well done.

[Alone In A Crowd]

Thank you, and I'll definately be looking up Robert Frost now. Also, I'd like to say thank you, everyone is very grateful that you help(ed) protect not only your nation, but by doing so helping others also. Thank you.