The Voice of Stone

I watch.

The wind knows my name.
The rivers carve my heart.
The sun paints my face
every dawn.

Nature has never tried to own me.

But now
the roar of machines
echoes louder than birdsong.
Trees vanish.
The rivers fall silent.
Smoke stains the sky
that once held only clouds.

I cannot run.
I can only stand,
hoping someone remembers
that I cannot speak,
so you must.