The old ones  

Who witnessed centuries 

Of life, love, & lingering seeds 

In soil, of grasses, and youth 

The greenest and driest 

Of our leaves 

All born of the same soil 

Connected by roots and rock 

On this soft shell blue marbled  

Mist...manifested 

Long before thoughts coalesced 

Into abstracting objects of speed  

And decay 

While days accelerate 

For reasons that can't be wrenched 

Nor pried from the hardened pitch 

 
Lives measure outward 

Until years have aged  

Their weathered bark 

Skin 

Yes, I speak of our skin 

No longer supple & smooth 

Furrowed, rumpled by  

Love’s attempts and its fruitions 

As if all truth and heartbreak 

Have folded in upon themselves 

 
Movements forward and backwards 

Are figments of a collective imagination 

Enveloped in ideology and romance 

Still 

The old ones, reach for the sky  

With only the wind to aid their voice 

Adding 

To lucid stories of the embellished heart 

While we, the amplified souls 

Listen