Author Information
Poem #1 AT MACFARLAND Earths Soldiers
I sit in a room closed from society, viewing its products through a crystal clear glass that will not break at my bidding. Doors are locked and strangers inhabit bodies designed to help and protect me.
Yet we are alone.
The pale blue of a sky barely seen invites attention from eyes that can hardly see and a mind that would only dare to appreciate. Hiding that sky is nature's filters and strong-arm men protecting, healing, restoring a world damaged by those like me who seek only to exist and grow.
Black skin covers the earth that feeds those soldiers, preventing their life fluids from reaching their bellies and yet, somehow, they contrive to survive.
The building I await in, in which I am a prisoner within my own mind, hides too, the defenders-of-earth soldiers.
Yet, I see them struggling ever against seemingly impossible odds, fighting a battle with weakened limbs turned dimmed and seemingly fragile from lack of sustenance.
I feel for them. But in doing so, I find they hurt more for me, a fragile existence in a world they rule. I am human. Supposedly more intelligent, therefore, much stronger. Yet they suffer, not just for what humanity has done to them, but for humanity itself seeing that we are really ignorant and live our lives just to die: to die a death that is vain, a life proven fruitless.
That tree stands in its majesty, crowned with the glory of eternal living. By its very existence it proves its value, its worthiness, its intelligence, its strength.
If I could be but as one of earths soldiers, I would be great indeed.
