Warm hands drip with crimison sorrows.

These are not hands of murders

But protectors

Of land they had rightfully earned

To live with, not on.

From which to borrow, not take.

A cycle, a partnership, disrupted

By greed and a sense of entitlement. 

Do tell me,

How does one discover land

Where families thrive?

How does one claim earth?

How does one claim Earth? 

Playing God

Then spreading his word

To control, to restirct, to destroy.

Stealing and then blaming you

For not keeping a better eye on it.

For not using it to its full potential. 

And now what is left?