Dirt MAG

April 1, 2011
By JackNolan BRONZE, Brooklyn, NY, New York
JackNolan BRONZE, Brooklyn, NY, New York
1 article 0 photos 1 comment

I am and always was a piece of crap,
You look too hard at it, I am just that.
Dirt like you, dirt like gran, we are all dirt.
Tight shirts might hurt, just loosen up. Not light,
My face rises like the sun sets. Fall fast,
Dead leaves and dungarees, quick, burrow deep.
Hush your words you piece of dirt, ignorance.
Bliss shower me, fill me full, water nulls.
We grow to green, seldom when it's still sweet,
Fertile with germs, potential to be great.

The author's comments:
This is supposed to be a syllabic poem, with 10 syllables a line, making up 10 lines in total. The format was sort of messed up by the submission box. This poem is something I wrote about the human race as a whole, our inherent denial and lack of self awareness. It speaks of the autumn and spring, and the correlation between dirt and man, for dirt, although ridden with germs and bacteria, also has the capability to give life to a beautiful rose, like we as a people can do great good, but more often chose not to.

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This article has 1 comment.

Barbara =] said...
on Jun. 2 2011 at 1:37 pm
Vey deep and thought provoking i likeeee it :)

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