Ancient Children

Untold generations
scrabbling for root and sky.
Squabbling, tiny cries.
Tiny teeth
pierce warm placenta.
Devour past, future in
heedless squealing need.
Fragile fragments,
thin ribbons of
blood and muscle
set to humming.
Rippling waves
forward sails of song.
I hear this nation shriek.
Dark and light.
Wet and wild.
Enslaved by misconceptions.
I hear reverberations of tribal drums.
Tidings from when we knew
magic as companion —
foe or friend.
Back when it was easy
to understand.
Words, weapons, wisdom

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