We all started out full of hope.
A bud, a berry, a seed, or a twig sprouting upwards, full of life.
Not far from our mother’s reach, entwined in her eternal strength and protection.
Always near, never far from the roots and branches that comfort and bind us.
Growing together and flourishing en masse with our neighbours, family, and friends.
All our collective glorious green joy reaching towards the heavens.
And then, the heavens failed us, and turned our world into a dry, dusty drought.
And then, the land responded in kind with fire and brimstone, turning our uplifted arms into charred bones, and our trunks into cold, black coal.
But still, our roots held steady, deep, and strong, as an homage to our ancestors.
But alas, then came the floods washing away all chance of revival, and all hope for us entirely.
We had no roots, no branches, no leaves, and thus, no progeny.
We were just barren, lifeless skeletons of a future lost, and a past full of regretful choices made by mankind.
But hope springs eternal, and so does our legacy, with patience, support, and understanding.
Our lifeless remains will fuel the promise of another future, and all hope is not necessarily lost.
