They came in waves,
with the thunder of bootsteps,
words sharp as metal,
hands heavy as law.
Names unravel like smoke,
lands fold into maps,
lines carve with ink and iron.
The wind asks no permission.
The river seeks no authority.
The sky sees no borders.
They build fences,
not to keep out
but to keep in,
walls that whisper promises
never theirs to give.
And yet, footprints pile upon footprints,
each calling itself the first.
