A Man-made Tomb

Inside a single teardrop lives a world of woe-
Battlefields of casualties where few want to go;
But upon the perished shores of evil's regret
Lies the wasteland of an eagle's golden asset-

For in the beak tattered and worn from poacher's aim,
Comes the sordid knowledge by a different name:
Removing all that nature stores inside her womb
Brings man ever closer to his eternal tomb.

As the mighty eagle falls from its soaring heights,
For his shattered dignity quietly he fights;
With his revenge exacted silently in kind,
The end of man he can see in his dying mind.

Man erases nature at terrifying speeds,
Causing the extinction of that he truly needs-
He doesn't see the high cost written in fresh blood
Or the flower growing black in death's shadowed bud.

When death's cold and icy grasp is around his throat,
Man will know at last his own eulogy he wrote:
No other creature will have caused his own demise-
To that pitiful challenge, only man will rise.