Last evening I pulled in
to our driveway. Standing
between our house and
our neighbors, a buck
returned my gaze, holding
me within its black eyes.
Buck standing at boundary
recalling me to reality.
Silent reminder of nature’s better way
harvest, consumption in harmony.
He, whose ancestors roamed
these plains, from their substance
provided feasts
for a people
who lived in reverence of
those they shared land with,
not dominators, controllers, masters,
grateful recipients of generous gift,
taking what was necessary,
offering thanks.
Shamed I come with exploiter’s hands,
boasting my independence,
proclaiming loudly “Freedom”,
while chained in
delusion’s dungeon.
Caught in this moment
I see only when the spell is broken.
Time’s ripe for revolution,
restoring oldest vision;
humans, nature
respecting one another.
Shall we perish separately
or rebuild mutual liberty?
© Phil Kemp, 2025
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