Destruction of The Mountain

The mountains bleed ice cold rivers,

Running through bright green landscapes,

Visible like veins underneath pale skin,

Rough and wild like savages,

Who live beneath the enormous rocks,

And they whispers, as the wind foretold,

"We shall burn"

The voice from inside the mountains rumbles,

Deep and loud but slow,

The savages run, the animals flee,

The trees scream for mercy,

But the wind is silent.

As the new moon shines,

The mountains burn at last,

And, oh, they suffer.

Beautifully,

Intensely,

Quietly.