I am growing things
my mud feet
my root fingers
my sunflower stem spine
are common
but not as fragile
as you think
I am quiet but not voiceless
beneath your feet
under your machines
silent does not mean weak
I am stone breaking
you forget how hot
this melted rock blood
I pulse burns
I am earth
how my breath
is ashes falling soft
in quiet snow
that never melts
& smothers cities
with a sigh
I am hungry
remember this mouth
will swallow your bones
in the end
A horror poem it seems !!!
🙂 just our planet.
I love the structure of this poem Susan. the flow of the two images and ideas is really strong
Thanks, Audra.
Volcanic voluminous beauty!
Thanks 🙂
We have been WARNED! Great Susan
Thank you, Rhonda 🙂
Was feeling a little… Volcanic yesterday!
like this very much susan. to me it appears it has elements of indian nature in it:)
thank you–I think it has a bit of that feel…
Freud would love this – on first reading!
beautiful, strong!
Oh no–you are bringing out the good doctor! I shall at once retreat, turning all shades of red 🙂