Hoot owl hollow. A days poem in creek county.

Hoot owl hollow( original poem by kspeaks) Who came to my hollow? Who? Came to see what man gulped up, greedily with one swallow? Did they not tell you not to be among them, not to follow? You shouldn't be here among the destruction. You see my nature is still under construction. My truth and beauty you must seek like an unknown instruction. You came on you own, you say? Please, please just wait still and obey... and pray, you can do that too, pray. You must go, leave behind the burnt trees. Your soul it flees. You see? With his eyes the owl, he haunts you. He sees beyond the hunted hollow. Follow, I must say. You will? Your will? It will come undone, upon the sky so blue. Fly like fowl. The fowl watch their trees destroyed and the workers replace the barren land with oil rigs. The rigs become the nest. The fruit of the land like figs, these nest lay beautiful among the ashed soil. Turmoil. Turmoil among the glorious soul. Flourishes, a new beauty. Flourish, scrubbish... the beauty is not power. Not this hour, my dear. But fear the hollow owl, he is too near to you, my sweet dear. Dear, deer. They used to reside here. They flee, to be free. Me dearest friend, you and I, us two? Surely, we must want to be free? So, it seems to be. We shall reside here among the white trees, burnt underbrush, and oil filled creek. A creak.... the limb, my dear, did you here it creak? The owl let out a screech. Those two are within my reach. Treacherous, treacherous, trespassing among my tress, among my tress of treasure. Revenge on them, I will take great pleasure. Pleasure, is not here among my hollowed out chest. For interrupting my rest... yes, that's the justification I'll use for my ramifications. Rest, rest my dear. The owl took quite a toll on your soul. His soil, your soul, oh the turmoil. Oil. Loyal. No, quiet down and dream. A fig, a figment of your imagination. Dream of unification. Yes, unicorns used to prance here. There, over there. Say, can you hear? Their hooves dance, above the hollow. The owl screech, the unicorn ceremony, the deer run, the trees grow, the grass greens, the oil flows, the creek clears, the waste evaporates as does the blue sky. Night falls. My, my she is mine yet she remains asleep.