I look to the hills where the monkeys fall down,  
 an action not unlike the cascading of a waterfall, 
  I see them tumbling whimsically down 
   to their deaths, 
    creatures not unlike lemmings. 
     They clasp desperately
      the branches and twigs 
       hoping they will support. 
        snap-break-snap-snap 
         All they can see before they plummet
          is the
           sun
                             so they pray to it.
                              Death's gears turn with minimal    
                               disruptions:
                                A few go the other way
                                 not rolling down the treacherous incline;
                                  bearing no resemblance to the corpses 
                                   supine
                                    My eyes shift to them,
                                     curious,
                                      It almost looks like they are  
                                       smiling.