We are blind and deaf to the world.

Like caged animals in a zoo we strut and posture

hopelessly trying to assert ourselves in a way as to show

that we are not the prisoners that we see in our reflections.

The Sun is our Father and the Earth our Mother

And like all good Fathers he punishes us for the pain we inflict on our Mother.

Her Heartblood seeps into every nook of the land

Many think we are killing her, but she will live, but in her thrashing agony

She will kill us, her children.

But some of us still remember, we remember the music she pours forth

We can hear the echos in the song of the rushing river

The rustling of the wind caressing the ancient trees

The crashing hymn of the waterfall.

There is not much left to hear, but we still have hope.

And hope, even in the darkest of days, is all there really is.

-Jason Blanchard


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