I create worlds, skies for me to hide in
There are houses near Appalachia,
being eaten by vines. Spirits of the people pass through,
consuming anything not meant to treat itself.
Long after we are gone, the stitches of the land will carry on.
Our fragile, feeble bodies are as disposable as unused plastic.
We do not possess the ability to survive the decay that follows
Our first steps into the light.
Only the essence of our existence carried on in whispers and songs
Will remind the world that breath ever filled our lungs.
And with this gift, what did you do?
Did you publicly weep for the trees?
Did you try to protect the magnolias?
A horse with blinders is a slave to the rope that turns its head.
To see is to dream of the freedom an eagle possesses.
Between its wings in its minuscule brain;
It knows not of the invisible strings that tie down the human.
The central nervous system bursts free from its skin prison
To grow roots into the ground, enslaving us to society.
We must uproot these ties and become liberated from the world.
So you too can possess the freedom you are due.