The Simple Word Poetry

I hereby pronounce myself guilty. My hands, daily, partake in conveying the fruits of their destitute and unending sweaty toil. S qualid, subhuman even. The master enslaves his subjects, while he luxuriates in lavish dishes and silk sheets. His roof protects him from exterior storms, while his physical interior rots whole. My hands play an unwilling role, dancing in step to the devil's fiery tune. Avarice swells the corrupt  heart of the oppressor. My hands, complicit only by pecuniary necessity,  hear the anguish of the serfs who once extolled  much pride from this toil. Thy 10 fingers are but pieces of the whole that allow the master to remain swaddled in riches. It pains thy soul to partake in such malodorous escapades. I protest vehemently, internally. Alas, to no avail, I return daily and commit the guilty sin once again.

Out here the trees speak in disconsolate tongues The accompanying winds lend a gentle ear "I see them come, but they leave ruin" Tall, stoic and mature, they reach out to the heavens for help Their cries go unanswered Only the wind comprehends their mournful entreaties "Behold our plight, do not deny our voices" Who hears the befallen tree, once so graceful and free? Will you lend your hand and heart? Or just stand idly by as a witness to their tragedy?

It meanders through the dense forests of the southern New Jersey pinelands, this 50.6-mile-long river called the Mullica. We travel past the historic Batsto village where revolutionaries once fought over this treasured land. The native Americans were not given a say in the matter. We come to a bend where the pine trees open their arms, allowing us a peek at the liquid thoroughfare, while the sun's glistening rays reflect upon the mirrored surface. A stone carpet welcomes us, leading past a thicket of pine towards the beckoning waters ahead. A rickety wooden bridge takes us into a clearing dotted with picnic tables, barbeque grills and high-canopied pines. Peering over the bulkhead, we seek solace and solitude, but the roar of humanity drowns out the deafening quiet which we sought. Large yachts, mansions, motor boats, boom boxes, jet skis and bathers outnumber the fish it seems. Speeding cars and the revving of motorcycles pierce the air from the adjacent roadway. I w