Arpeggiating dissonant notes in the symphony of ecotone
The incongruent harmonies connect with violence
met at the nape of our necks.
Never seeing the fruits of our negligent will,
the sun is setting, we’ve carried our cross to the hill.

The reaper draws nigh, the trees heave a sigh in the night
A malefic presence stirs in the breeze as the forest falls
prey to this den of thieves.
Malignant culture has erected a mechanized reign
Are we not stewards, or were our oaths sworn in vain?

If we are to protect you, then steel our hearts we must
For their hands will desecrate you if the steel becomes rust.

Cries of the crickets and the sputtering of engines
Two anthems bleed into one
A drone for the ages, contrary voices
summoned forth from the ecotone’s tongue.

Hear the trees palaver in esoteric whispers
reminiscing days that have passed
The mushrooms conspire through a myriad of networks
by treading their mycelial paths.

In reckless abandon, we storm into the unknown
The paradox of living in an ecotone.

Beholding the buildings of megalithic stature
arising to swallow the sun
A labyrinth of copper wire snakes through terra firma
energizing this grand creation.

Arranging the pieces to replicate an image
of nature in our jungles of stone.
The flora, the fauna—captured in an island
Micro and macrocosm…
We are primates learning to harness the powers of both wood and wire
Driving our currents to conjure emotions; through nature, we are inspired.

Uncertain eyes gaze upon our world from just beyond the treeline
looking upon a peculiar scene, where lumber and concrete stand
together, to tower over the land.
The shadow of human achievement stretches as far as the eyes can see.
The beaten path will take them to the edge of an ecotone,
a stone's throw from almost heaven, where civilization and wilderness swirl into one. Simultaneously both, while ascribing to neither.
We paint our faces with the sap of native pine, we sully our hands with clay of the river. We pay our tributes to god's creatures left dead, the roads stained with their forsaken gore. Time is all but lost here, like sand through a sieve.
The coyote's cries seem to last forever, echoing off every hill and down every holler, beckoning us to join them.
And beyond that is freedom.

Victory resounds, harmonious ecotone
See how the synchronic circle connects, euphoria met at the nape of our necks.
Caught in reverie, spellbound by a sight so serene
Hear how the scenery can inspire the sound of machines?