Like the talons attached to an otherwise, free bird;

A catch of its jagged edges, never we mind;

The snagging of a delicate thread – loss for word;

The snuffing out of the scent we’ve scattered to find.

The upheaval of oceans otherwise, swallowed depths;

The crash of its tumbling ledges, never we satisfy;

The repetitive histories of nations – not too many left;

An evolution into something born and bred of genocide.

Beneath the shifts in the shelves of the Earth,

Fed by the deepest roots of each living, breathing tree;

Beneath the magma and beyond the light of time’s birth,

Lays a carbon copy of everything we think and see.

Like a paper fortress amidst in the twirl of a tumbleweed;

Laced with spores off the floors that we stand in line to lick clean,

We are filthy – this thing called “humanity” – there’s no denying;

Our…