Terra-Firma
This chain of rusted iron and fallen tears is strung together,
forged of poorly tempered links,
cast into the water untimely,
the choices called to account.
There is no jury for decision,
no panel for propriety or loyalty,
and that metal is riddled with holes throughout,
holes that hold steady between the weak iron,
holes which time will fade.
Oxidation slowly burns away this tepid and unfocused purpose,
obliterating importance and leaving nothing but red, or green dust.
A corpse of what poor choices that were made,
left for the isotopes to feed on,
which they do.
Where the rock is king.
And the earth beneath it all is always laughing,
laughing at our fear of silicate embrace,
the love we have for our belligerant air;
So here we burn together,
here we rust and wilt away, petals to the barren ground.
we blow away...
Where the rock is king.
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