Trails

Mother Earth is stuck on reservations 
Her domain eroded by man’s machinations
Forests and wildlife surrounded by industrial border towns
Filled with the remnants of old world sounds
Crow calls and deer hooves lost in traffic echos
We have taken our organic roots and let them go
Now we build routes craved into our old history
Trails are the birth scars of the modern humanity
She cries out for love once more
Choking, as our relatives die off in droves
But we simply build better trails and streets
Ensuring that the wild is something we do not meet
My hands lay on plant and concrete
Can be born of the grass and the street?
I hear her call my soul to the wild
Modern clothes but I dance in ancient style

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