return home

cicada sounds beneath mellow sunlight,

aubade from the east, where the sun rises.

dances in black velvet clothing and sphere

silver beads, embellished with

blue, pink, and mango yellow tassels.

a thousand people, one woman --

their leader, the chief and

her loving people. quiet lakes with

movement from whispers in

the air: a water source

for all the creatures.

greed woven into the seeds

sown underneath damp soil,

but denied growth and overtaking.

but, other lands are not so lucky.

in some lands, the sound of

mosquitoes and grass dancing

is replaced with the burning of coal,

the arson of nature.

in some lands, silver spheres

are exchanged for paper-value.

in some lands, the creatures

only drink liquid gold.

in those lands, the ground

begs in despair --

it’s not too late to let go,

it’s not too late to

return to me.

return home.

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