The breeze rustles
The scream pierces the air
and cuts through it
The wind carries it for awhile
Then it hits the trees
Where the branches, like fingers
grab at the cries for mercy
the pleading sobs for compassion
Picks them out of the air
cuts them up
muffles their desperation
Until, like a whisper
It hits the rolling hills and meadows
Where it slightly echoes
But the melody of the birds
Singing sounds of morning praise to the sun
Choke out any chance the scream ever had
The poor scream has run it's course
Melting out of existence, much like it's bearer

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