Blue veins peek through pale skin. Battle scares from fights never intended to be fought. The springtime sun highlights the gray my the hair, while creases map a story across my face.
I never planned to be this old, sharing the specter only with myself. Sitting in utter silence, I hear only the distant call of the birds and semi trucks. Yet when searching for the right font, I feel the heat of the lent day sun.
So how much longer do we need to hunt and gather, as much younger warriors need the land. But I feel at peace in life’s different stations, as the distractions of a slower pace grab hold.
As a black cat crosses my path I laugh at life’s misfortune. Still I wish peace for the children, whose paths have yet to be laid. For so much time and restitution is owed to our Mother. But nothing as yet has been paid
By the wretched greed of our generation, spoiled rotten by the silence. Fore told and prophesied, we cast the die. Never once feeling the retribution, of an existence buried in lies.
FD Thornton