I think the gods release these winds
As i push up hill.
Like the lost ones i want nothing
But to go back,
But concurrently a feeling of need,
A passion like fire
Keeps pushing the tire that would so easily
To my left, fields of what we call nothing.
They stir little emotion
But reality says different.
These fields glide on the wings of an Ill understood dream.
They make and break peoples lives when they cease to yield.
People we ignore.
People we forget.
These fields make me remember that they're
They make me forget the violence
And broken silence
Of the ways of our established world.
I can breath here and actually smell
Life, stirring without worry.
And so i push on,
Through heaving breaths of the freshest air
Ive ever known.
And my sweat lands in the grass,
Its water providing nutrients for the crop.
And as growth takes host,
I soon become one with the land.
Through these fields,
I found something more devout than Mennonites
Something more serene than the Amish.
Something deeper than myself.
I found America.