The Fire

I wonder what the mountains used to look like Before we started blowing off their heads Hollowing their bodies like ripe melons Melting down and auctioning their gilded flesh Now they're carved like stairs that lead to nowhere Terraces of ever barren farm Feeding crops with rivulets of acid Perfect copper fruit Victimless harm I wonder what the forests used to look like Before the charred remains of ancient trees Were laid to rest in beds of their own ashes From dense wooden sky scrapers To mounds of hot debris I've heard the plumes of oxygen flowing from their leaves Were rich and thick enough as to be seen Clearly as the smog of modern cities But that was all before the two degrees How it used to be means nothing to me I will deny the fire Until it comes for me