Made of a natural components.
I stretch my limbs beneath the surface of which you walk upon.
And climb the stairs of your atmosphere.
Drunk on the liquid which is poured upon me.
My body is long,
And thin.
Bear, and forgiving.
Im obsolete
An ancient concept which will never grow old.
This patch of land
Right beneath the windows of your living room,
It has been home to me for years.
I bore my children on this very soil.
Sometimes they take my neighbors.
With their big white hands
In one grasp.
And to the sanctuary they go
Where everyone sits
And sings in unison
A chanting to the candles lit,
And the figure strewn across the metal cross.
Other times the hands take my friends
To places where those with older hands
Are soon to leave.
My friends are symbols
And given to those which are in need
Those white hands picked my children.
And brought them to places I had never heard of
And I longed for a drinking
I was thirsty for what the hands would pour.
