You are seen, but never heard.

Stepped on, kicked, and clawed, but never given any remorse.

You have been spit on, rained on, and snowed on.

Ripped  from the ground by the Unbearably painful shovel,

Yet you still share your space with all.

You help sprout beautiful floweres and keep the animals warm.

With rain you become a hideous mixture that stains my shoes.

You make Derek Jeter's jersey run through extreme wash.

You are used repetitively until you become weak,

And slowly you dry out, and are called used up, dead.

You watch everything wordlessly from below.

The tears shade at funerals when bodies are buried into you.

The joy when little boys and girls stomp on you after scoring their winning goal.

The stampese of animals hunting their prey.

The new life that starts off as a seed and beings to blossom within you.

You build houses for the less fortunate.

You make pottery for the skilled.

You are mixed with salt and vegetables,

Baked in the sun and called a cookie to the Haitians.

You feel undescribable, taste like bitter sadness,

Smell of hope, and seen as nothing.

Kissed by all, but not out of love

But because the battle has ended.

I, like many others look through you.

I worship the unimportant and forget the already forgotten,

You.

You who is stepped on,

You who is kicked,

You who is clawed,

But never given any remorse.