Crucified Acres

the land burned and carved again  

bought and resold like cheap flesh  

trees lost their names in smoke  

rivers gagged on the taste of steel  

the young men sit with music loud  

heads nodding to beats, not screams  

the old men stare with dead silence  

choking on their own bitter air  

billboards rise taller than the hills  

casting fake shadows on cracked soil  

progress they call it, but not here  

just another nail in the coffin  

our mothers’ fields turned parking lots  

stone replaces where grass once prayed  

nobody fights, nobody even listens  

the land crucified and left to rot