Take me to church

To connect I look for the well-worn path

It leads me down the center aisle

The trees stand as proud parishioners

The stumps serve as pews ready to receive me

The earthy smell is my incense

I breathe in the gift and give it back

A homeostatic symbiosis, singularity obtained

The wild animals are my brethren

They look at me with welcome understanding

The backlit canopy is my stained-glass window

The offering plate holds only love and promises of protection

Money doesn’t grow from trees

It’s made from their corpses

The mother suffers tremendously from man’s pursuit of it

The very fact that it’s green is blasphemous!

I come here to feel connected

I try to regain DNA’s memory

From ancestors that walked the path first

To remember what is real

To find my roots

I must dig

Bare hands

Alone

 

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