Wellsung Stories
No two songs
are sung exactly alike.
For if they were
they would be one sung song.
No two stories
unfold precisely uniform.
For if they did
they would become one united uniformity.
Yet no two songs,
no two stories
remain entirely alien toward each other
or they would not be recognized
appreciated as narrative at all.
Possibly even compassioned together by anyone
as compromising songs, well and badly sung,
within stories, well and badly lived.
Passions sung and retold
by any witness,
sometimes deaf and blind
and best times more acute,
astute.
Songs are sung in mythic octaves
as stories unfold in fractal seasons
of noticing Winter's advent of potential,
through Spring's co-arising becoming,
Summer's mature diastasis,
healthier
as more resonant
in polyculturing ways and means.
Summer's pathology
grows fading dissonance
with monoculturing parasitic intent
in Autumn's harvest of discontent.
Earth restoring storied songs
bring LeftWing virgin birth to forests
for hunting and gathering EarthTribe nurturance,
ionizing
and lionizing
harmonizing
ergodic rhythmed
and seasonally rhymonizing,
thermodynamic
and radiant ecstaticizing
co-gravitizing
creolizing native First through Last
Shall Be First
interdependent stated nations
and tribal relations
and four seasoned octave
correlations,
double-bound elations.
On Her more RightWing side,
This commodified ball of rock and dirt
and fouled water
and polluted air
and Hell's anthropogentric punishing fires
to be aimed at
against
each other
is what's rightfully,
if somewhat too ballistically, left emptily
raped and pillaged,
drilled and fracked
industriously enslaved
depressing baring
suppressing breeding
and repressing beating
and, eventually,
butchering the filthy Bitch,
formerly known
through well-sung stories
as Sacred Mother Earth.
No two EarthTribe songs
are sung exactly alike.
For if they were
we would become
one too predictably sung song.
Copyright ©
Gerald Dillenbeck
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