He is one man to acres of land
Ploughing his way
Stiffening his spine
Dreaming life as a habit
In the meagre search for a mouthful rice
To unfold the dissolving of a great design
To share with his wonder's lust
Green meadow of grazing grass
Keeping the spoon, thank you very much
Charming birds, doing good, when dont have much
At the top of the land
Clouds brushed bare scalps
Euphemism of grand power of a demon
When seeing is not about looking
Nor sensing never about feeling
Nature's way of touching the sky
In it's effort to knock on god's doorstep
Rampant survival, fading vegetation
High altitudes
Gasping
Exhale, inhale
To stand out among other things
As he lay himself to the ground
Waiting for that whispered voice
Reliving his instinctive loin
Lines, lines of multiple ground
And contradicting lines of force
That little by little converge
Then, simplified, cancelling each other
Out at the peak
A return to unity
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