The Disruption of a Quiet Life

A quiet life by the trees in the forest of a thousand years.

I wonder if this was predetermined,

If the true nature and cycle of this world is interrupted.

A quiet life by the wildlife in the forest of a thousand years.

The rainbow lorikeets call, familiarised.

The White-Eye’s chubby round head is memorised.

A quiet life by the bustling activity in the forest of a thousand years.

A mulberry tree’s fruit snatched

By the talons of a flying fox to feed to its family, unknowingly deceased.

A quiet life by the silence of the plains in which remains the wreckage of a forest.

The song of the Black Cockatoo's forecast of rain is no longer called,

And the dance of the Eastern Rosella is no longer performed.

A quiet life? By the urbanised plains on the outskirts of the city.

Where a thousand-year forest was demolished

And along with it the home the airborne animals once inhabited.

I decide the true illness of this world is not a virus or plague; it is humanity, as a whole.