Spray - Painted Trees

Trees painted red for the blood they cannot shed.
They die just the same, but do they feel pain?
Does the forest cry out as its members fall down?
Or was there no voice as they fell to the ground?

The trees do not speak but they still utter sound.
They creak and they moan, and they sway all around.
The wind rustles their leaves, the sound tickles our ears.
It leaves lasting impressions, some laughter, some tears.

Stone Walls

The walls were built up brick by brick, 
strong - without a crack.

Not to keep the feelings out, 
but to keep them in - without slack.

Too many roles to let the feelings show,
the heart no longer knows to go.

But time alone has worn the walls,
some cracks now do appear.

The heart soaks up the sun, 
its time outside draws near.