Sometimes the soil beneath my feet
is as hard as sun drenched soil
like souls devoid of rain pained by
calloused soles unfed by rain for years.
Yet on other days I speak
of soil drenched with blood
seeping and seeking after
after my sinking soul.
It's all the same after all
the infertile soil standing
unsteady after the fall.
It's all the same after all
the infertile soil standing
unsteady after the fall.
But the grass still grows
soil notwithstanding
tall, my feet standing a top of them
crushing the blades beneath my soles.
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