Redwoods

There has been a war.
In the land of ancient giants, the warriors prefer to hide the front lines from view.
Yet the evidence is clear, as loud lumbering monsters thunder by in file,
the fallen stripped of their limbs and stacked in mobile mass graves.

On the field of battle, the slaughter is always without mercy.
The victims, cut off at their knees and ankles, do not litter the arena.
No prisoners taken, no women or children spared.
And we are all collateral damage.

From the air, the battleground is a patchwork,
a sickening quilt of devastation.
The selective extraction is a vision of politics and greed.
Shock and awe at the loss of the treasured.

The war continues, I fear victory is certain.
Rejuvenation of the vanquished is too slow.
Adaptation and migration are not viable routes of escape.
Scars in the land, and scars in my heart.