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Rated: E · Other · Environment · #1232757
Consider it a piece concerning the Earth in relation to large-scale human death.
So near to forever I have been alone. Millions upon millions of years. It has only been in this short time, this miniscule segment of my existence, that any beings have ever been so close to me.

         I have cultivated and grown these creatures, from the earth of my garden, the fibre of my being. So fast they have changed, from infancy to adulthood, barbarism to civilization. So quickly they have raised one another, loved one another, led one another, destroyed one another.

         So short a time they have walked upon me, and yet eternally I have supported them upon my back. They are my children; they have been since the dawn of my existence; they shall be, to my end.

         Upon me I feel that they gather in great numbers-For what purpose I have yet to fathom. I am the rock, the grass, the road; I have crumbled beneath their feet. They have cut me and burnt me, ravaged and spoiled me; taken the babes off my breast and slaughtered them; put me under the microscope, the torch, and the coroner’s scalpel. Yet still I love them.

         They have taken all I could give and more, asked for more than they can take and less than I could offer. They have bred sin and instilled vice, harboured monsters, and manufactured beasts of steel and smoke.

         What is one man, as to the other? Each is the same. Each weighs near the same on my back; to eat the same amount of bread, drink the same amount of mead, and love the same number of women; Each in equal measure of sins, of flaws, and of my love.

         Upon me I have felt them marching. They have been herded in the metal beasts, or are sheparded by them at least. It really makes no difference, when it comes down to it.

         Some fall from the air, high above in great creatures of steel, to plummet in fire and fault back down to me; Some fall in the vast creatures of water, to flounder in chill confusion deep into the abyss. Some fall from the mighty creatures of land, in pieces of powder and iron; Some creatures simply fall, weary and deathly, upon my soft back to lay and rot. They all fall, one way or another.

         From the womb, to the field, to the grave; Each they return to me, keeping me company.
© Copyright 2007 The Silent Whistler (opinionated at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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