Imbibe the air we must.
Its inert, its oh-so-droll
beat of life, drawing, closing.
The dirt, the aromatic
bouquet of pervading joy, and decay.
Unwelcomed intrustions too.
Those odious, those persistently
inhospitable to love, leisure.
Through them all, breath.
A foundation. A substrate
pacing all motion, thought, struggle.
Surrounding our person.
In silence, in unrelenting
nourishment, and torment, of mind.
An unyielding steady churn,
of earth, and of culture
manifest in the milieu of millions, and media.
Ideas seeding movements.
For hate, for progress
beyond what presently is, and is not.
In scope, and in servitude,
honoring the weight of blind, finite, life.