The ToilA Poem by MiriamMBThe act of digging for self and truth within myself, and fearing there is nothing of substance there.I turn my soil every day Waiting for the blond grains of dirt to turn black Maybe if I dig a bit deeper… I want to dig them out in wet black clumps I’m looking for a few sprouts here The delicate dance of an unfurling leaf there Roots from a nearby tree snaking beneath the surface Instead I find baked dry sand and stinging brown scorpions I find nothing fertile between my cracks. I couldn’t keep the desert out of me. © 2013 MiriamMB |
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Added on January 26, 2013 Last Updated on January 26, 2013 AuthorMiriamMBDenver, COAboutI write, and I want a place to share my poetry, read other people's poetry and learn to grow as a writer. I want to write on more than just impulse. more..Writing
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