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The animals live as they are adapted to live, but never more. They are primitive. Without free thought, without art and culture, without clothing. The trees give shade and shelter to the animals
I am bursting life pours forth from every crevice of my being. I want every sensation to touch my skin, my mouth, my heart and mind and soul;
We live here in the earth, deep in soil, blood red in clay and skin cresting the sky, we inhale. We are young; Face coated in oil and litter, fumes halo our head
One of the most Significant instances of misogyny Within our time Is the disembowelment of the earth. You would think, That with our empathic nature We would be too hesitant
We find it lying on the beach: A lump of scales and fingernails, An inky trail up from the water Slithering through the sand Its eyes open and filmy As if surprised by the sudden darkness,
I took a walk into the trees, Alone and without fear. The wind whistled through leaves, A song that was just for me.
I dream in Green I dream in shades of emerald and jade I dream in trees In plants, in mountains And sea
What do you want to be when you grow up? When we are young We don’t think much of the answer It is too far away-
I stretch my span of wing, in the air once again My senses are heightened, carefully I listen; Silence. I fly over forest, why is the green so thin?
A child of the spring, just like me, we grew together. With each passing year, 1, 2, 3, I came to know you. On every birthday I could see how we had changed, and I loved how
We take, we destroy, and we grow. We grow without regard to the life around us - not even our own. We poison our lands, our air, our streams, and our bodies. Yet we build wealth.
If everyone read National Geographic There would not be as many things to report about in National Geographic If young girls were surrounded by images of beauty and strength
(1) We(2) began(3) slowly(4) as cavemen(5) and then we developed agriculture.(6) Then we developed civilization,(7) but we still used our resources wisely.
The trees he slit each bedtime are my limbs. Breathing branches laid to rest. Spread as a tumor, Man forces lactating yield, across this wielding breast.
Impatiently sulking through dismal days A wretched state of dour contemplationSeeing only drab shades of darkest graysCaged in cyclical self-lamentation Imprisoned in humankind’s austere wallsConsoled by a primitive ambition Pacing madly about thr