Monday, July 2, 2012

Dead Roots/Poetry

Dead Roots

Without dead roots I,
only can live,

Wrenched up,
from naught,
here to nothing.

Why did I pull?

Digging for gold,
to find katniss,
an edible meal,
for the wealth.

Like a fine ivy,
along and climbing,
into the next,

I see sunlight,
splash upon,
the pretty tendrils,

Old-fashioned grape vines,
along the pane.
How could I not-
pull up the roots?

I had to konw,
the beauty overcame money.

That panners,
see gold,
more precious than plantlife-
I cannot see.

Now I have tea-leaves.

Yet no throught
or anticipation,
prepared me to
see the shelf,

of the dead roots.

I pulled them from the dirt,
to make better,
but for me-
they died
like my inspiration.

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