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


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