If soil could complain-
if air could sign,
if Earth could weep,
and if humanity could truly speak
of what it has done to itself.
They would recount quite wounds,
buried in silence,
echoes stifled by times,
memories sealed away,
folded within like secrets-
the world refused to hear.
But silence is not peace,
it is a storm held in the lungs,
a scream never given voice.
And if...
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