deepundergroundpoetry.com
To labour
I bleed red.
I howl my truth from a lonely mountain, watch the lands of ice melting.
People are no longer connected to their food source, nor oxygen, nor water, nor fellow human. I pace
this patch of earth
until it is flat,
solid,
black
sheet ice, breath
becomes laboured while this figure spins
a furious frenzy,
hateful,
hurting,
trips.
I cut my knees. Liquid runs
across fingers that dance gentle
along each wound.
I bleed heat and redness
in the depths of our
long Winter
and hope no bulbs are nurtured.
I howl my truth from a lonely mountain, watch the lands of ice melting.
People are no longer connected to their food source, nor oxygen, nor water, nor fellow human. I pace
this patch of earth
until it is flat,
solid,
black
sheet ice, breath
becomes laboured while this figure spins
a furious frenzy,
hateful,
hurting,
trips.
I cut my knees. Liquid runs
across fingers that dance gentle
along each wound.
I bleed heat and redness
in the depths of our
long Winter
and hope no bulbs are nurtured.
Published 13th Dec 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7
reading list entries 2
comments 5
reads 597
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
13th Dec 2019 11:12am
I can’t even adequately put into words what I feel this morning. Thankfully, I’ll bury myself in your words instead.
Spent some time drumming to send out a call for peace. All I could do.
-M
Spent some time drumming to send out a call for peace. All I could do.
-M
Anonymous
- Edited 13th Dec 2019 12:22pm
13th Dec 2019 12:20pm
The contrast of the warm blood with the cold ice is what really sells this visceral piece. Well done, Poppy. Poetry is the refuge of those who want the world to wake the fuck up from their electronic devices, politics and CNN.
13th Dec 2019 1:27pm
Connection to our origin is a rare thing, Poppy. People tend to look upward. We are stardust; it's true; however, we gestated within Mother Earth. She alone sustains us.
Beautiful poem of soul-longing for our deepest roots.
Beautiful poem of soul-longing for our deepest roots.
14th Dec 2019 12:37pm
Somewhat stunned by what's in store for the U.K now - and getting my hands in the soil will be one way of calming my soul - the other is to keep writing poetry.
18th Dec 2019 10:52am
