Mountain Dwellers, Forest Fellers,
Man in his instance of recognition chose solitude above the plains.
We became mountain dwellers, forest fellers, now all that is left
Is for Industry to bellow, scaring with tar a sky once blue has been
Smoked yellow. To know for sure that there lay some truths untold,
It’s all we ask, all we’re asking for is a break from the obscene.
As images flicker un-imaginable rates I search for meaning within the
Signs of the months in their turning. Framed memories arranged in
Chronological orders feed the boundaries of my mind to breed beyond restriction.