A Place Of Resistance

I went to seek out a place of resistance,
but naught did the grasses lay,
for the buffalo roamed and roamed
under stars for the ages
where the sky sheltered their freedom.

Then drove the human in cars and
diesels by road
over a summer eve’s gale of storm.

Stopping and staring, pointing and
glaring, the grasses and flowers and
trees were no more,
replaced by warehouses, chain stores,
and matters of volume,

from the age of the gods a new era
was born.

We sit in our homes.
Our forebears vanquished.
No questions for
the origin of words and intentions.

The stars no longer wave with the hay.
The humans are no longer made of the
stars.

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