Echoed Through Eoens

All things embraced pivot towards the inevitable center

The same leaves rustled 2000 years ago, still wilt every fall,

 and spawn in the spring.

Shifting pulps contort, flying planets connect in the black,

soundless forever above.

Hidden behind the clouds,

where we imagine out animals.

There is still men clawing in the sand, holding onto whatever

they can, screaming it's all in God's plan..


Great swarms of starlings hang around the dump,

flying, wistful masses of one giant mind, never colliding in their huge wavering dance

eating acre by acre the expanse of waste,

then covered,

green and a park, shining bent metal, placed, children smile in the daylight sandbox

1,200 starlings go onward to any new garbage they see.

Some mountains fall an inch, others rise the same

All their time spent in one big rise, living with eons of fall.

The mountains echo us more than we'd like to admit.

Frightened, frightened, hide away with your job and pay, your football games, your endless brightly colored maze, same old days.

Maybe if we could hear the sounds of planets,

connected, thrusting, crashing

against each other in space,

we'd realize how small we are.

How little our daily plights mean.

You'll never end these human ways.

Volcanoes fall in, seas rise, clouds go by.

All we yell, digging foundations in the dirt,

"Adapt, adapt, take and toil, claw onto, and feed off the changing world, stay safe, build, build, make your mark atop this soil."


We forget the place we have in this cycle.

And so we fall slowly with the mountains, the years inch by,

as eternally the clouds pass over, and the river's a different form every season.

Tortured souls hide in their self-made cage.

The End

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