Money Trees

They march again to the graveyard

Bodies still sore from the ones they buried yesterday

What took hours now takes minutes

Repetition led to efficiency

They took their positions and did their part

Unending trauma served as anesthesia

Caring humans reduced to numb machines

It wasn't always like this

The heart that once pumped more than blood

Had hope coursing through their veins

The poet had said 

"Flowers will grow where they lie, 

We will water them from the tears we cry"

The land now, lined with flowers felt more barren

The tears dried out watering an entire forest

The poet now lay beneath some weeds

A new poem recited across the streets

"Does it matter how colorful the flowers be?

They will always be shorter than their money trees"