Earth: our ominous all-mother,
   she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
                        and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.

her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying.      but where death comes, there is no long interval until more

life.

the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.

She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.

But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
    out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving;     for
    She is life,           she is love.
       We are love.