Waking Up

The dream is collapsing, beneath the roving madness of the masquerade, the city streets are blocking out the sun, as the media is swooning, like a black cat in heat, with its glowing static eyes, penetrating through the darkness, leaping out from behind the screens, to teach our children how to walk, how to talk, what to think, what to feel, what to buy, what to sell, is this all we are to become, a rotating advertisement, a billboard hung out to dry upon the desert that we have left behind, to feed our gratification, to litter the halls of the natural world, leaving it shattered beyond any recognizable form, the owls they are watching, waiting for us to turn around, to come full circle, to lick our dirty paws and begin to heal the wounds, to return again to the world that waits outside, a world that holds no grudges like our own, to offers us sustenance, when we have nothing left to offer in return, to reveal a path, beneath the overgrowth, it lies amongst the forgotten footsteps of the ones who came before us, a merger of epic proportions, that will decide the fate of this earth, are we to stand still, with the only world we know, to watch it burn, or are we to forge ahead, to cut down our mistakes and rebuild our home without walls, without fences, that includes all life, that accepts that we are interdependent upon all else, to admit we were wrong, to learn again as a child, to grow in proportion not with our will, but with the ground that has been gifted to us, to pass this on, as we become the guiding footsteps marking the path for the others to come.

– Josh Fleming

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