veins of the earth

Straight and winding.

Some well traveled, others desolate.

We have traveled many since we met the world,

and have been drifting ever since.

Many more we’ve yet to meet.

Though there may be one who knows which they shall be,

man made the world this great organism.

Transforming its rich landscape into a body like our own,

so that life too may swim among the trees, as in our blood.

Round and round we flow,

though unlike our sanguine counterparts

round we need not go.

The world is spread before us, opulent,

more promising than our own predictable interior.

Yet round and round we tend.

Round on this vast playground we tend.

What blood would not give for the chance to go forward,

or backwards even, on the veins of the earth.

Bleed and choose another path than the one it is set.

And what we would not give to be reborn with every circuit.

To breathe again where we have before, and feel alive.

Will you bleed or will you breathe?

Until the veins of the earth

lead us where we long to be.