A rhizome nourishes the roots,
The roots sustain the trunk.
The trunk splits into many branches,
Reaching for the sun.
And we, in all our might, are nothing but a sprouting bud.
Thrusting violently and blindly into the unknown.
And yet, somehow, we have the gall
To stare contemptibly upon the tree from which we soon may fall. ————————————————————————
Hearken to the Earth’s guttural whispers,
Tectonic plates spell the words to our eulogy.
Hearken to the Earth’s whistling winds,
As they chant the tale of our tragedy.
Hubris, they sing, was our final legacy.