alone
walking
out long enough to detach
and think a bit
of the world
not us, but the rocks, the trees
this stream a dying trickle
waiting for winter...
the dreams
these stones lay in
will outlive me
even as I watch the leaves
fall and decay
the branches they left
watch me grow and fade
in the time they take
to climb
out of the their trunk
yet we shape and cut away
at the well being of this
in way and with a force
we we're never meant to have
all these advances
and things we have
haven't made us all
that so much happier
for every step easier we take
we lose respect
for how hard and worthwhile
a softer, firmer step is
in tune with the ground
the trees
the air
the water
we live too long or too short
I am not sure
but our time and means
allows us to cause more than fix
sending so many ills up
the generational stream
No comments:
Post a Comment