photo by Jane Booth
empty veins of an abandoned church. the blood was once pumping, prayers spinning, stained glass did not make it this east. the first one burnt down and someone built atop it’s ashes hoping god would enter and answer. a man stood here and spoke a sermon,
“son, do not doubt the love and
do not turn your back to wrath.”
this is my sermon,
“silent and haunted by still alive beings
i don’t know where i’m walking
how does heaven see mass graves?”
no land untouched by man is not an exaggeration. some say there’s beauty in this synthetic sixth extinction, all i find is a desire to sleep with the few ancient trees still rooted and learning to wilt with the rest of us. my whole heart is stretched in apology for my society (american, african, czech, german – no. i mean consumerism.) mama nature take me home – or as close as i can go, the one lone hope is
hard to say. maybe a handshake, maybe a symphony that only i can hear, specific to my ears and their revision of gray landscapes. what this place was before roads, before factories, and tombstones, green bones intact but splintered. take advantage of smooth pavement while you can and keep writing when it’s not, when we stop, when will we? will we?
nothing is sacred. no exceptions or accepting. every land has it’s own specter to digest. human horror stories sink into any semipermeable substance. wounded bark makes murdered wood, martyred and taken for granted, the cabinets are their own grave stones. they are not dated named or placed.
i do not know why i expected it to be different here. somehow more understanding of man’s violation of nature in making himself bigger and better than his mother.
we are meant to follow nothing but the footprints we left in the mud for ourselves. people do not need permission to enter the past. to dehumanize a location erase the names on headstones.
photo by Linda Moses
photo by Jane Booth
Love & many blessings,