My village

Admiring the nature in my wildest grace,
These northern hills with weary feet I trace;
So many damages over the trees, soils, and even winds
My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
Till an old man and the farm open my mind.

Stories of greed were told in tears,
They came with lies, promises and money,
They bought the winds and the hopes.
In tears he told.

The melting cliffs cried out of pain,
No more grass nor tress protect me from winds
No more hopes I can keep
They bought the winds and hopes.
In silent he told.

The woods, wild scattered was only a story,
No more old man to hope
No more stories told.
In pain he told.

The village or the town,
No longer clear to the generation,
Neon, poisonous tube, and silent they stare at.
My village glittering in the moonlight beam is just a dream.