No longer at war

Shall the earth scald our feet before we learn to move?

Move in the rhythms made by our wandering hearts, the tears flow

To our hands in rapturous ecstasy-

We are accepting realities outside our consciousnesses, and we are wont for the purging, the cleansing of our souls from the clutter we've clogged it with,

There is absolutely nothing we can do about it, we tell ourselves, and the pains grow still-

Our hands itch,

Our feet squirm, we are eager for the expression of wordlessness,

For the birth of that that speech cannot utter,

Nor mind fathom, beyond depths of human reasoning,

And the resonation of quavering souls- our dilemma

Is the choosing between the sides- paths of the alone, or paths of the together, both bearing a long and life ending end-

We become the undoing of ourselves, till we ask the question again:

Shall the earth scald our feet before we learn to move?

Shall we wait till nature falls over, and we in it?

Shall we finally learn to speak without words?

Words are the death of our natures, our morbid instinct, as we die in its gratefulness-

With our hands we kill our hearts, stopping our thoughts; dead reasons.

We may finally learn to move without words, and our world may be rebuilt from the dust we buried it in,

We are reborn in ourselves, our hands move to the rhythm of our feet,

Our feet move to the rhythm of our hands,

Our mouths are silent, while our hearts scream all there is to hear-

We are one with our nature, finally, no longer at war,

The earth can turn again-

And our hearts, hands and feet beat on.