The Soil

How many cycles have spun since the last time the Earth took breath beneath your feet

I hate the feeling of grass

When was the last time your eyes closed over galaxies spreading across the universe

I hate bugs

How many years have been marked away since you felt the rush of the wild river flowing with your soul

I hate being cold

Have you ever been so still that nature begins to remember your name

I hate being bored

From roots we grow wings

Free to forget.. sterilize.. demean.. The Soil

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