Drifting Sand

Tripping blindly across the land
with lives all built on drifting sand.
We lived in mansions made of stick;
we walked where Gaia’s love was thick.

On that long path we saw so much;
on heart and soul and healing touch.
Had we but known where we did go
so much more we now could know.

A generation lost in space;
once walking tall in Gaia’s grace.
The secrets that we saw out there
stripped us bare, taught us to care.

But somewhere on that beauteous way
our generation forgot to play.
Forgetting Gaia’s lessons taught
we worshiped Mamon – it we sought.

We plundered then throughout the land;
whole cultures now on drifting sand.
Not long till quicksand forms below
unless with Gaia we choose to go.

So buckle up for storms ahead
lest all of us will soon be dead.
There still are doors where we can be
once again alive and free

but we must choose to enter there;
the doors with signs saying “NoWhere!”
The only doors that have a goal;
these are the doors can make us whole.


 

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About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
This entry was posted in Green Poetry, Life, nature. Bookmark the permalink.

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