Soil
What was that something that I found,
way back when, above the ground?
It held and sustained a little while,
occasionally it brought a smile.
Smiles, strange to think of here
I have no skin, I have no cheer.
The darkness took me by surprise,
the smiles wiped away by lies.
Those words of friendship, fabrication.
A pain like waking, slow castration.
They snicker, suggest and celebrate,
still blind to their part in my fate.
Left alone. No single friend,
'til I met my solitary end.
I lay and hear their tongues still toil
yet am powerless below this soil.
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I really don’t know how I feel about this piece. People who pretended to be your friends, lied, all the good things they may have said were fabricated. You had no real friend until you were buried here in the soil. Your so called friends will never know how what they did or said or didn’t do and didn’t say contributed to or caused your death. Your pain is certainly the one thing that I can feel and understand, as having no friends, or backstabbing friends,
Can certainly be a very sad life. But I can’t believe someone as likable as you has no true friends. I guess that is what trips me up.
If it is true it is very sad. You certainly were in a sad mood when you wrote this. And emotional pain is very painful certainly.
So sorry that you are feeling so low.
There is such a quiet, profound wisdom in this piece, Gary. You’ve captured the way soil acts as a bridge between what was and what is yet to be. It is a powerful reminder that we don't just walk on the earth, but we are part of its constant cycle of renewal. Thank you for this beautiful invitation to look more closely at the ground beneath our feet.