Lost Time

Cold commercial relics of industrial production; As if production could harness the complex origin of pre-classic contemporaries. Master’s of earthly arts and masonry, Their blood and fears culminating in celestial creations of historic proportions; Over vastly constricting landscapes. I send phalanges of lost connection, Deep past the ordinary boundaries of normal paths. The sandy soil nourishes my calloused souls. At night it soothes and refreshes the canyons between cracked and missing digits. Frogs echo through the expansive night sky. Resonating between the stars, and returning in an extremely complex yet simple pattern, their message is sent. Louder with each chirp and bellow, subtle patterns illuminate the differences in each response. The spring has come. Time to refresh the foot’s connection with continual movement. Let your bellow dig deep to the soil of space’s horizons, And return rooted in the rhythm of earth’s timing.