I need the landscape to move me.

I need to see to rolling hills and trees.

I have to look over the cliffs and witness,

The ocean thundering onto the beach.

I love to climb-up onto the branches,

Of old growth trees and hang on,

To the limbs as if it were my own life,

At stake.Then sit and write a poem.

Few things makes sense to me.

People are always fucking things up.

We need to change the landscape.

Rake away the fermenting muck.

We need the rain to stir-up the leaves,

Not the assholes spreading disease.


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About the Author:

Dean Walker is a freelance writer of articles, essays, short-stories, and poems. In one way or another, he has worked as an environmental and human rights activist. Dean is the publisher of Expats Post.
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