Her Own Groove

Rivers flow, winds blow, and mountains of sand move. Water banks shift, beaches shrink – the Earth has her own groove. But here we are with retaining walls, homes of stone and streets paved in concrete. Man-made canals and walls to damn because we think it’s our own land. With great convictions we invent restrictions to imprison her bountiful bodies. We happily wave her old currents goodbye as we create her new ebbs and tides, ones that used to flourish now only malnourish and we wonder why. Committed and convicted are her handlers who defeat all her damsel-like defenses. With dozers and dynamite they do their will under a falsified right; tearing, blasting, deconstructing and dividing with fences… his, hers, yours, and mine… taking, giving, raping, and selling – prostituting and looting her most valuable pieces. Like plaster on walls, we silence her pulsing beats with our seemingly prosperous feats.

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