Saturday, May 27, 2017

Original Poem Post 2 - "Roots"

Now that you've read my first poem, I'm now sharing the next poem I wrote, "Roots". I think that this poem is in fact better than "Rocks", but I won't know for sure until you read it and let me know.



Roots
Buried underneath soil and trapped
Under
Layers
And layers

These undeserving and unacknowledged roots were driven into the ground, never
properly organized. ordered. straight. parallel.
instead, writhing in deep convolutions and contortions as if squeezed by a velvet hand
and expanding to occupy the blackness of the empty, restless earth.

Though fated by nature to descend
into the depths of hell and never stretch to the heavens,
the twisted tendrils accept
such rigid fate as normalcy, as if growth is supposed to spiral downwards.

Slaves to thick, penetrating darkness
amidst a sea of obscurity and lack of understanding,
the roots are shackled
with bonds and links tightened to the illusion of separation.

Unable to see their neighboring strands
  Their companions
Unable to hear the subtle shuffling of growth
  Their maturation
Unable to smell the richness of the dirt
  Their odor

But still able to swallow in gasping, sputtering gulps
the pure, immaculate liquid of clarity and life,
And still able to soak
The maroon liquid of seeping, sinking cruelty and death.

The roots violently lick their
chapped lips and desperately croak in coarse tones
gasping for a brief response,
but all noise goes unheard, lost in the thick soil.

Even with their throats parched
and their pleas unanswered,
the roots claw at the soil hoping
to feel a solid form different from the fine earth.

Scraping and scratching and clawing
the dirt peels away to reveal
more blackness and more earth,
causing the roots to extend and grow to fill the gaping space.

And with such growth and such understanding
follows unity and connection as the roots finally
penetrate the black earth to clasp hands
and experience and touch and feel the warmth of another’s palm.

Although the darkness and the blackness were omnipresent,
the roots finally stretched to heaven
In stretching to one another

Though still unable to see the light, the roots were no longer blind
Though still unable to hear the chorus of their neighbors, the roots communed through touch
Though still unable sense the breath of other strands, the roots inhaled company and exhaled unity

Now able to grasp and trace
the weathered palms of their brothers and sisters,
And able to interlock
With the crooked, jagged arms of strangers

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