[Insert Whimsically Deep Title Here]

Hollow Womb

there is no better mother than the land
When the screams of men bleed my ears dry
the tears of clouds wash me clean.
When the chains of idealogues start to jangle
the sight of burning sunset glazes my eyes.
When the machinations of progress choke my lungs
the cradling arms of empty valleys offer perfect peace and rest
From dust came man, and as dust we must return