Rock, clay, mud and sand

Let me shake off the dust.

I don't know where I end and the land begins.

Red clay and white sand cling to my feet.

There's dark mud on my arms and legs.

I have black dirt under my nails.

They say God made man out of the dust of the earth.

No man is complete that does not own a piece of it.

Ah but which ground?

Natives to this land said no one owns it, it is a gift for all.

Blown like a tumbleweed I have no roots and know no fences.

Born on the side of towering peaks, with glacial creeks, and pine forests,

it is there that my primal images sleep in dreams.

Years later, reaching manhood in the tropics,

with its palms, exotic floral fragrances and balmy weather

I found my first love and there resides my heart.

I floated on a thistle on the breeze of hope.

Drifting to the desert and its windblown dunes, that stretch to the horizon,

there I found the mirage of peace.

Disillusioned I abandoned my soul to the sand

The Pacific coast and its mild weather offered an easier life.

Ignoring the price for a forbidden apple, I purchased the seeds of knowledge.

Banished to mortality and earning my keep by the sweat of my brow.

There you will find my mind.

On the plains with its bison and waving grass seas

I plowed fallow ground,

nervously awaiting life giving rains and death dealing tornadoes.

There I sowed, harvested and sold my crop,

leaving behind my sweat and footprints as I trudged to

the frozen north.

In an eternal winter of intolerable cold,

I shivered through long nights, that turned my spirit to ice.

In frozen ground I buried my pride.

Migrating southward, white sand beaches, palm trees and hurricanes, with black mud alligator marshes, anchored my feet to what felt like home.

Digging my toes and heels into the sandy sea bottom, rip tides pulled me away,

the salt from my tears joining its mother's currents.

Spirited south, to the rain forest canopies of tropical mountains,

strewn with granite rocks and red clay soil,

the voices of thousands of years are whispered by every moss covered bolder and tree.

Lost with no trails, thick foliage and thorns rip and tear my flesh.

Dirt, baptized with my blood, becomes a philosophers stone changing the inanimate to life.

I, like Osiris, am torn in pieces and scattered over the earth.

I lie in distant places, awaiting Isis to gather my parts.

I am the rock, clay, mud and sand that covers me.

I don't know where I end and the land begins.

Reviews

[DIVYA]

This poem makes such a beautiful connect between man and his land, his earth. The connection is primal and the only bond that is lasting. From dust he comes and unto dust he must return, so earth is all a man has. His only sole possession and true wealth. A magnificent poem, dear Soren.

[Soren]

Thank you so much dear Divya you captured the heart of this piece indeed.

[DIVYA]

This is such a memorable poem. Will stay with me. You are most welcome, dear Soren.

[Betty Hermelee]

to me, this lies deep in your soul. sometimes its is difficult to find ourselves, our spirit our place in life...so we wander to different grounds seeking hope and peace.... but we don't find it instantly.... so we keep wandering until we do, if we ever do....and therein lies the problem...."I lie in distant places..." Sometimes
we feel like we don't belong on this earth...we are too scattered.....who owns the ground? Where do I fit
in? do I have to buy my plot?
deeply felt poem Soren...
Best, B

[Soren]

Thank you so much Betty for the review and such kind comments

[Betty Hermelee]

You're very welcome!
Best, B

[willweb]

This was very deep my friend. This created a vision of everything that there is, little pieces of the differences from every corner of the world. Like flying, floating, following the lead of one who knows and one who learns. And the opening, the thought of ownership, indeed...who owns the earth? Who owns the soil? Someone must, we buy the land we call our own from someone. Who was the original owner, who holds the original deed to the earth? Man, this was really deep. Nice one Soren.

[Soren]

Thank you Will your review is always most appreciated. Yes you are right, who owns the earth. We are all a piece of it, and made from it.