The Cut Trees

The trees who were dancing in the rains from the clouds, Cut and put under sun and moon, without the shrouds, Mercilessly seasoned in the hardships of the nature, Wrote many stories before being mended in furniture. The story of changing weathers they wrote on their stems I see them everywhere in the manmade selfish realms They watch how the doors we open and how we close Sitting on a chair the behavior of hips they can prose What we do on our beds and with whom we sleep at night They know the wrong we did and they know what was right They know how much money put in the drawers came as bribe The currency is local or foreign everything wood can inscribe Today man is reading the past in the writes on the stems Tomorrow he will read our private lives in the dirty realms Machines will be invented to convert their writes into speeches Wood's recording all whether pure showers or the acidic leaches.