salawieh
Jun 1, 2015
Writing Feedback / The Curse Of a Tree (deforestation) [2]
PROMPT: write an essay about the importance of trees and the sufferings and consequences of deforestation.
The Curse Of a Tree
Placid. The queen once sang the song of life and reached upon the sky, with its decent arms that touched the light and taught the birds to fly. Bold. Its lofty girls have bathed in gold and marveled when they grinned, have flirted with the gentle air and teased with it the wind. Smart. It lured the amateur youthful rains thru the charms of its stature, and softly hugged the astray drops like there is no after. Gone. The woods now miss the echoed voice that trots down through its path, and grieved the loss of a murdered queen expressing it through its wrath. The orphan girls now weep the mother and the beauty fades away. The mourn has put the smile to suffer, and the green world has gone gray. The outraged soul envying the queen, went piercing on its face, till the skinny girls surrendered, fainting out, with no lap to embrace. The shaking arms could hold no more and lay down to decay, as it watched the body, once firm and still, is stabbed by shadows away. As the darkened soul continues the beating, detaching the girls from the waft they flirt, the curse of the queen goes on repeating, you can't breathe with my leafs in the dirt.
Trees, the poems of earth nicely said to the sky, telling the hush-hush laughs of a green leaf tickled by the air, revealing the secret of a seed that ran away on the wings of a fly fetching for a new life, expressing the meaning of this life, the connection of a world under the ground, a mysterious world, with an exposed one, by a sturdy trunk standing proud forcing the wind to bow, conveying to the horizon, the sacrifice of earth, the bloody battle between light and dark exposed in a twilight, and the weeps of a flower at the end of the day missing the cozy hugs of the dead sun, the whispers of a lover to the king of night, to the God of sleep, a lover who made the stars his confidants, his witnesses, and the begged the air to hold his shrieks to the loved one far away. Silenced, muted, the earth can speak no more, the connection of the skies with the grains of the soil has been cut, that proud trunk which stood a witness to the greatness of this world, telling the stories of days that passed in its wrinkles and its folds, has been stabbed. The tree has been murdered, burned, to send with the black fog that caries the solace of the woods to the kingdom of blues, the threats of a human challenging the skies.
Calmly, it falls. It never screams. Perhaps the murder of the tree is the only crime were the one holding the ax is the one who screams. It never really has to do anything about it. Karma does it all as the sins man commit in the woods are not buried in the woods. They haunt him back to his civilization seeking revenge through the calmness, the freaking calmness of a dead tree on the bare ground and an ax in the human hand who couldn't have been able to walk into the woods without the help of that tree, who couldn't have been able to stand on his feet without the help of that tree, who couldn't have been able to move that hand -which stabbed the tree- without the help of the oxygen from that dead tree. That same greedy human who is now showing off with the tunes of civilization, has learnt to chant, long time ago, from the whistling of a tree.
The greedy hand has gone so far stabbing what once made it alive. Humans have been committing the crimes of nature, stripping the woods out of its green clothes to harvest timber for woods, products, or fuel. Assassins have been abolishing, destroying the dresses the nature once wore to dance with the breeze, making its fragile body vulnerable to a sun burn or a slap of a fuming wind. The calls for advancements, the humans have raised, have been muting the verses the trees once sang, to cover up the ringing of the farmer's swords swinging in the air, slaying trees using harsh techniques until the blood of murder has drowned the soil to make it degraded, dead. And the story was never told to the skies, never transported, the secrets were buried with the soil beneath until the breeze once found no queen to dance with, the skies above heard songs no more, the air could not make the weeping grass smile, and the woods have been humming the melody of death over the dead body which grasps the whole nature within.
The heart of an assassin is soon replaced with a stone. it can feel no more the loveliness of the woods, the warmness and deepness of the forests. It can only view what's around as a target, a source of advantage to suck the life out of it and leave it as a corpse. It can never feel the harmony of nature, how the trees wisely arrange the winds, manage the clouds and wait for the magic to happen, for the drops of rain rushing excitingly to hug the grains of sol, unite, and then rise to spread the magic of love throughout the air, sucking the poison out of it, making the wish of life possible for those which are young. It can never notice how trees silently heal the wounded, how tender it holds within its folds, within its arms, within its young fruits, a cure, the way it acts as shelter, a shelter for the weak, for the homeless, for the baby that is yet to live. It can never sense the way the trees embrace the water droplets, purify them like a priest to come out as a new born, ready for life, fresh and pure. Even in the sense of the solid language, humans can't seem to understand; even if the lungs of Earth were described as air filters, water factories, or medicine cabinets, human can't seem to see from behind the blindness of monopolism and exploitation. They can't seem to watch the young animals, homeless, losing their habitats, and heading towards extinction, leading to a tragedy, a massacre of nature and humans as well, who depend on these species for medical and food support. Without the trees to manage things out, chaos occurs, climate loses its balance of gases which no more supports the life of plants. Hence, the green is lost forever.
From the very first scream, the very first clash of a tree falling down, from the very first shriek of the naked nature losing its precious gown, the curse of the queen has been set on earth and haunted the human soul, to revenge the murder that he committed to the lives he once stole, for the world that was once a play of love, a chant of harmony, became a victim of a cheating drama, a tragedy that could be. Even when he got the mourns of nature, felt the melancholy, he slaughtered them, one time again, and wrote down " Save The Tree."
PROMPT: write an essay about the importance of trees and the sufferings and consequences of deforestation.
The Curse Of a Tree
Placid. The queen once sang the song of life and reached upon the sky, with its decent arms that touched the light and taught the birds to fly. Bold. Its lofty girls have bathed in gold and marveled when they grinned, have flirted with the gentle air and teased with it the wind. Smart. It lured the amateur youthful rains thru the charms of its stature, and softly hugged the astray drops like there is no after. Gone. The woods now miss the echoed voice that trots down through its path, and grieved the loss of a murdered queen expressing it through its wrath. The orphan girls now weep the mother and the beauty fades away. The mourn has put the smile to suffer, and the green world has gone gray. The outraged soul envying the queen, went piercing on its face, till the skinny girls surrendered, fainting out, with no lap to embrace. The shaking arms could hold no more and lay down to decay, as it watched the body, once firm and still, is stabbed by shadows away. As the darkened soul continues the beating, detaching the girls from the waft they flirt, the curse of the queen goes on repeating, you can't breathe with my leafs in the dirt.
Trees, the poems of earth nicely said to the sky, telling the hush-hush laughs of a green leaf tickled by the air, revealing the secret of a seed that ran away on the wings of a fly fetching for a new life, expressing the meaning of this life, the connection of a world under the ground, a mysterious world, with an exposed one, by a sturdy trunk standing proud forcing the wind to bow, conveying to the horizon, the sacrifice of earth, the bloody battle between light and dark exposed in a twilight, and the weeps of a flower at the end of the day missing the cozy hugs of the dead sun, the whispers of a lover to the king of night, to the God of sleep, a lover who made the stars his confidants, his witnesses, and the begged the air to hold his shrieks to the loved one far away. Silenced, muted, the earth can speak no more, the connection of the skies with the grains of the soil has been cut, that proud trunk which stood a witness to the greatness of this world, telling the stories of days that passed in its wrinkles and its folds, has been stabbed. The tree has been murdered, burned, to send with the black fog that caries the solace of the woods to the kingdom of blues, the threats of a human challenging the skies.
Calmly, it falls. It never screams. Perhaps the murder of the tree is the only crime were the one holding the ax is the one who screams. It never really has to do anything about it. Karma does it all as the sins man commit in the woods are not buried in the woods. They haunt him back to his civilization seeking revenge through the calmness, the freaking calmness of a dead tree on the bare ground and an ax in the human hand who couldn't have been able to walk into the woods without the help of that tree, who couldn't have been able to stand on his feet without the help of that tree, who couldn't have been able to move that hand -which stabbed the tree- without the help of the oxygen from that dead tree. That same greedy human who is now showing off with the tunes of civilization, has learnt to chant, long time ago, from the whistling of a tree.
The greedy hand has gone so far stabbing what once made it alive. Humans have been committing the crimes of nature, stripping the woods out of its green clothes to harvest timber for woods, products, or fuel. Assassins have been abolishing, destroying the dresses the nature once wore to dance with the breeze, making its fragile body vulnerable to a sun burn or a slap of a fuming wind. The calls for advancements, the humans have raised, have been muting the verses the trees once sang, to cover up the ringing of the farmer's swords swinging in the air, slaying trees using harsh techniques until the blood of murder has drowned the soil to make it degraded, dead. And the story was never told to the skies, never transported, the secrets were buried with the soil beneath until the breeze once found no queen to dance with, the skies above heard songs no more, the air could not make the weeping grass smile, and the woods have been humming the melody of death over the dead body which grasps the whole nature within.
The heart of an assassin is soon replaced with a stone. it can feel no more the loveliness of the woods, the warmness and deepness of the forests. It can only view what's around as a target, a source of advantage to suck the life out of it and leave it as a corpse. It can never feel the harmony of nature, how the trees wisely arrange the winds, manage the clouds and wait for the magic to happen, for the drops of rain rushing excitingly to hug the grains of sol, unite, and then rise to spread the magic of love throughout the air, sucking the poison out of it, making the wish of life possible for those which are young. It can never notice how trees silently heal the wounded, how tender it holds within its folds, within its arms, within its young fruits, a cure, the way it acts as shelter, a shelter for the weak, for the homeless, for the baby that is yet to live. It can never sense the way the trees embrace the water droplets, purify them like a priest to come out as a new born, ready for life, fresh and pure. Even in the sense of the solid language, humans can't seem to understand; even if the lungs of Earth were described as air filters, water factories, or medicine cabinets, human can't seem to see from behind the blindness of monopolism and exploitation. They can't seem to watch the young animals, homeless, losing their habitats, and heading towards extinction, leading to a tragedy, a massacre of nature and humans as well, who depend on these species for medical and food support. Without the trees to manage things out, chaos occurs, climate loses its balance of gases which no more supports the life of plants. Hence, the green is lost forever.
From the very first scream, the very first clash of a tree falling down, from the very first shriek of the naked nature losing its precious gown, the curse of the queen has been set on earth and haunted the human soul, to revenge the murder that he committed to the lives he once stole, for the world that was once a play of love, a chant of harmony, became a victim of a cheating drama, a tragedy that could be. Even when he got the mourns of nature, felt the melancholy, he slaughtered them, one time again, and wrote down " Save The Tree."