The Giving, the Taking

A poem about a river and plant life

Crowd roaring over jagged edge

Moving coldly but swiftly 

Breaking around my legs

Many faces but I see only one

There just simply isn't enough time for hesitation

A pause would be unthinkable

If the stream halts there'll be hell to pay

All of the green countenance doesn't seem to mind though

I don't hold a place among the movement

I am neither green nor white

But even still I am welcomed here among the roar and countenance

We like to poison the roar and hack away at the countenance in the name of necessity  

Yet we are still welcome

But that doesn't seem to matter

It never seems to matter

I guess this is what they call progress