Made for You and Me
For centuries, man has struggled to understand
the four-lettered L-word that has eluded him
since the beginning of time.
"Land."
Biblically, man was evicted from the first plot of land
he ever owned -- if you believe in Deity as demanding landlord.
Warring tribes have only ever fought
over the best real estate available.
Spears and catapults have been replaced with
bus stop bench ads and business cards,
all just so much wood.
Pity the "Indian," the "Native American,"
sweet roses without a name unblemished by European misdirection.
Even political correctness can be historically
politically incorrect.
Envy the moon.
Man was satisfied with tagging it,
like a hoodlum hanging from an overpass --
but he took off before morning traffic,
before any real damage was done.
Now, imagine the man bold enough to steal the burglar's loot.
What kind of mind dares deconstruct the city,
strip it of centuries' progress,
reduce it to base "land?"
Who would be so brazen to cage
the spaceman, the native, the pirate?
To let them loose?
In the garden, man was supposed to name the beasts,
not give them a voice --
but one man did, and they gave him a name.
He rebuilt the garden on that name.
He played to the instincts of humanity, reminded man of his youth,
and knew the only way to win the greatest war of all time
isn't on the battlefield, but in the heart --
The most vulnerable and enduring
location,
location,
location.
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