I am in the garden
On a mission of death and destruction
The trees scream as I cut them
But I pretend not to hear
It is easier to kill
When your victims are silent
They shriek and moan
As their limbs crack and groan
Until they let go
And fall
To the ground that once gave them life
They are no match
For my high-grade steel blade
Expertly notched
To sever as I push forward
And remove the flesh as I pull it back
Perhaps
They will forgive me one day
Or perhaps
They will never forgive the day
I cut them down
Like objects
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