A divided land,
seperated by vast years of the cosmos.

Also, ostracized, are the peoples.
One of the tall pines.
The other of the blue green waters.

Self surviving owners
of the natural space.
 Now what they have is a third
of what is rightfuly theirs.

But have not the schools, the doctors
or the modern amenities.

No pity though,
for they have shadow creek.

An empty vault of the entire beginings of our mankind.
You and I.
an yours past
are all theirs.
Their own and there amoung.

Past the ledge of the tall pine.


There, molded by blue green waters.

So instead of painting the wave.
Go see the peoples of the pine,
and blue green depths.
Their life is the art.

You'll see surf in their sky.
As your eyes try,
try to resist but can't stop
their desire to fly.