Don’t Tread On Me

Today is like any other day, the sun beats down on the already scorched earth. 300 days a year, a land of dreadful thirst. We don’t belong here, humans that is. Those of us who have dared are clenched, clenched with fear, fear of each other, fear of the land, fear of the animals, the trees, the water, the lack of water, the dirt, the flames, the wind, but most of all the fear of the burden of freedom.

” Don’t tread on me” The words of free men,  scared men, men with guns in their waist bands, men ready to kill, the treading of boot soles on this piece of scorched earth, carries with it a death sentence. These men  are coiled, coiled tightly ready to strike, to kill, to defend liberty. 

Defend your place, your land, your things, your stuff. It wasn’t easy, the walk was long, you discovered this land, you took it, but they are coming for it, they want it back. The battle has been unkind, the hands are worn ,swollen and cracked, the body is broken, the scars are deep, the brain is reeling; what’s coming next it’s seen the rushes and the falls many times. Those people, people from the cities they come and go, they hunt for the gold, the oil. the blood, when will they come again.. You aren’t  afraid though you have gunpowder and God on your side. He cherishes this land yes god that is. 

But Summer is coming.

Get the chainsaw, cut the biggest tree you can find, then carve the wood, the vociferous motor is your orchestra and you are the conductor. It’s 110 degrees, but it’s what men do, this is an expression of manhood, strong men, men with no shirts, men’s men. A deluge of sweat mixed with gasoline flows down your arms, this is what it means to be alive. This reminds you of the battles you have fought and won. You live in this barren land for the same reason to feel the fight.

The spade, Charred Cedar
mark + poppy © 2018

The angel, Charred Cedar
mark + poppy © 2018

The figure, Charred Cedar
mark + poppy © 2018

Then the fire comes. Burning it to the ground, everything the wood, the trees, the chainsaw, the stuff, the land, the house, the cars, the machinery, grandma’s pot belly stove, the plastic reindeer, more machinery, more plastic, more engines. burning all burning.

The fire, did you start it?

Did nature?

Is there a difference..?

You can have your beauty, It’s skin deep and it’s only lies.
And you can have your youth, It’ll rot before your eyes.
Just give to me my gravestone With it clearly carved upon:

“I’s a long time a-comin’, An’ I’ll be a long time gone.”