To the Pacific

by sentimentalsurrealist

We blunder over
felled logs, jutting rocks,
lightly step on these
submerged stones.

Hear thunder over
windswept peak’s cragged face.
Storms’ bison trample
on our lands.

A fault in the earth,
a trail beat by tears,
a voice of the dead,
a coat of the years,
a son of the storm,
a crew of a ship, 
a way far too warm,
a loss of clear sight.

We wonder over
these ancient volumes,
wisdom abandoned
in our hands.

Asunder over
totems of war
towering over
man alone.

Look to the pacific. 

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