Echo
Down below the weeds
You can hear the Earth rumbling.
There is a life there
Of a million tiny eyes,
A million beating hearts.
There are feet scrambling on the surface,
Wings beating high overhead,
Small gasps of hot breath as time goes by
And the sun flies across the sky
Each time staying a little bit less.
But there will always be a rumbling,
The echo of the unseen.
And never will the dirt settle.
It is not permitted to be still
Because to do so would be to end
And an impossibility.
Every day again they run
Because to be still would be to end
Because they fear what is unknown.
Even the echo in the Earth.
You can hear the Earth rumbling.
There is a life there
Of a million tiny eyes,
A million beating hearts.
There are feet scrambling on the surface,
Wings beating high overhead,
Small gasps of hot breath as time goes by
And the sun flies across the sky
Each time staying a little bit less.
But there will always be a rumbling,
The echo of the unseen.
And never will the dirt settle.
It is not permitted to be still
Because to do so would be to end
And an impossibility.
Every day again they run
Because to be still would be to end
Because they fear what is unknown.
Even the echo in the Earth.