💾 Archived View for jun.skein.city › journal › poetry › under-fluorescence.gmi captured on 2024-12-17 at 09:51:42. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
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I toil the soil and earth,
the worms they tumble forth.
But the sun beats cold and blue,
and the worms they shrivel too.
For this soil I toil and nurture
is dry and quiet and cold.
For bound by logic and words
this soil is still, with secrets untold.
Where others toil and toil still
I lay, as no secret could stir me
as logic and soil and earth does pile,
and cover me.
But dead I am not, nor tired or weary.
A ponder I wonder under the soil,
A secret unlike those toiled.
While the soil, cold and brittle,
I grow and root and move freely.
For no logic can stop me,
nor words can settle me.
So sprout I pull, from toiled soil.
This earth no longer cold, nor still.
The sun no longer blue, nor beating,
and worms they dance, and stories told.