the way of the gods

My body 

Is one

Of ancient times

Of grassfields

Wooden structures

Wool and thyme

My body built

For the vast blue

Deep and full

And endlessly changing 

My head built

For the want and the hunt

Moving and forming 

Through life's flora

With the sensations

To feel it

To live it

My creature bulit

To be of nature

And survive its ripping

Its curling and pulling

With wind and waves

Patterns and rattlesnackes

Listen to humming bees

And smell nectar, leaves and lakes

Yet

Misplased

A world shaped

From our image

In cold sharp metal

And like gods

We demand

Life cut up

Into slits of red

Breathing to stop

Lungs to shread

How can we comfort ourselves?

We are the murderes

Of all murderers

Nature is dead

We are killing all

We did not create