Flint and water/Burn'em all

Beholding, like in another person's heart.
Fury, rancor, hurt feelings.
They don't move, compacting themselves in hard, stone cores,
eroded by red winds and red tides,
buried in sand, darkness and oblivion

Beholding, like in another person's heart.
Sadness, loneliness, unworthiness feelings.
They slowly flow, spreading, permeating,
reaching deeply,
so deeply they can be hidden,
ignored,
forgotten

Beholding, like in a low hill,
how the buried flint gives form to other hills,
and how the underground water is,
healthy or otherwise,
the new plants nourishment,
making them as they will be.

Ignorance is bliss, they say,
Ignoring the flint under the soil is going to help your crops' roots?
Ignoring the poison in the water is going to help your crops' growth?

What if the only choice is between
living in hard lands,
out of sick crops,
or burning'em all?