What a terribly odd idea.
That I must bleed a factory's worth of pens and a forest worth of paper
So that I may meet an arbitrary measurement of learning
A valueless number of value.
I am growing old. The world ages silently with me.
What have I gained from it? Grains of sand slipping through
My porous hands: incapable of recapture, of grasping the moment
My sister, my darling Catherine, waits at home for me
But I am occupied.
My mother, the origin of everything we know
Held captive by 'owners'
But I am the progeny of the natives, the inheritor of the Earth
Heir of the forests of my forefathers
Denied of communion.
How does a man come to own the earth?
What arrogance has befallen us?
To work away the best years of our lives
With a golf course and a bowl of grits as the light at the end of our tunnel?
Come huckleberrying with me.
Forget that unnatural state of human affairsreceive life f