The ground is saturated
With footprints, from time
Massaging, to the blue roots
Of this, sustaining planet
But we do not appreciate the Gaia
Like we grow too old, to remember the debt
We owe, our own mothers womb
Though our bodies, are temples
We do not adore them
Magazines, with pixelated omissions
Have become, the new age bibles
Living in cities, isolates us
Into Grey soldier suits
As we earn, one day into another
Until the weekend, pours the desperate
Last orders please
Down Mondays dehydrated throat
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