Human Nationalists Part 1 Upon Departure Will you follow where we are led? Can your heart not be swallowed Hailing heroes of the dead With their lives they saw us fed Feasting in a world where life is allowed Will you follow where we are led? A trek to kneel, to bow, at a sea of red Bubbling up, here reaper Time left hallowed Hailing heroes of the dead. Though you would have fell back and fled I know a path my dreams have followed Will you follow where we are led? As we kneel, raise your breathing head Our greetings unheard by the sorrowed Hailing heroes of the dead In the dreams I kneel alone, yet abed Yet doused in yearning. Cowed, Will you follow where we are led? Hailing heroes of the dead? Part II Upon Return While you stood there what did you see? Humans steeped in beliefs so dear...
The Hurricane and the Trees A Modern Myth of Florida Paganism by Birch V. Baum & A Hurricane Monologue by Opal Luna This is a story from not so long ago, when I was young and the seas covered all this land. The water elementals called the sultry ocean their home and swam happily among the waves. Yet over time, the land grew and grew beneath the ocean until one day an entire peninsula was born of seashells, coral, and limestone. The land elementals gathered on this new Earth and fed life into its soil. From that life came many of the great Tree Guardians of ancient Florida, including the Cypress, the Palm, and the lord of them all, The Mangrove. Now in those days, all the trees lived on and were close to the ground and soil beneath their roots. They let some rain fall from the sky to nourish them with water, but none of the trees liked the heavy rains or flooded ground. The water elements were jealou...
The heater’s humming nursed my lonesome ears Pulsing through yet another dorm room night. Trapped in the foolish, eased from the real fears I was free to exercise my puny might. Acts of heroism unlike any other When came the refugees at our door Two stray socks, abandoned by their mother Torn from their cold feet, left like orphans poor. Seeing those pitiful, lumped up socks Miserably thrown into a tiny heap At such a time of crisis, a fool talks I leapt into action, some help came cheap, Scrawled a few words, asking for the owner Since I did not need the little loaner.
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