Poems about ground

The bones of this earth
Grind down our fates
Our hopes
Our dreams
Our lives

And a feathered serpent rules
Over these climes
This western hemisphere
These Americas
Have you heard?

Something elemental shapes this
World
And tempers our lives.
Unknown to most.

The old ones
The people who lived here before
Knew him

Quetzalcoatl
Kukulkan
God of learning
Wearer of the wind jewel
The one who whispers life
And death
Through his lips.
And you must drink it.
Alive or dead.

The morning star is his sign.
The evening star
His farewell.

He carries the sun
As a shield
And your fate
Your fortune
As a good luck charm.

Listen and look.
You will see
You will hear it.

Whispers like water
From the heart
The skin
The bones of this sweet earth.

Listen.
You will hear it.

Grief is not a song you wrote once
Nor the padded, downturned corners of your face.

Grief lives below your footsteps
A black hole with mass
In the shape of a giant ape.
Each of your labored steps begets its sweeping swing below.
Your soles are its vines.

Between each footstep, as it moves with you
You think the weight of it might be gone.
Grief delights in this deception
As it seizes up-down once more,
Reaching into the core of you
And pulling it to the bottom of your shoes.
Some part of you, torn away, lands with a leaden thunk
And cramps the delicate inner muscles of your feet.
Maybe it's the soul
Or more likely
It's some forgotten vestigial organ
Which only emerges through its own absence.

Now hollow in your middle
The muscles surrounding contract in confusion
Thinking, knowing, that the empty space is wrong
But not quite able to recall
What had been there in the first place.
And so you think your heart is seized by grief,
When really, you are confused, you are feeling only
Nothing.

As Grief lives beneath the ground
As Grief swings beneath your feet.

Rebellious and insolent
My thoughts return to seek for you
To find an empty fighting ground; there
Long ago two hearts collapsed in love
Insane

And so I try again
As I take a final blow
And watch my soul's remains
Laying face up mid-sun
Not knowing how to live
Not knowing how to finish dying
Holding a permanent stance
Against letting you go
There is no final breath

I am without your many shields
Exposed ever so fatally in the promise
To protect
And bleed in different shades of red
As I remember your left hand
Gently covering my face
While the right swift and skilled
Split my heart in two
Beyond hope or repair

I am without complaint in all your strength
And in the bluest of your hues

I see sound
While
The warn
Red roses
That
Spring from
The ground

God knows how

You feel, that creation

Of feeling was God's /

So humanity could feel

An ounce of the

Selfishness taken by our

Freewill for loneliness

With a meager

Attempt at knowledge /

Oh please, advert those

Eyes from the edge

For the next time you start

To fathom the

Fall,

And though I

Pray for his angels

I call /

They obey God's law of

Freewill

As I cry in prayer

And follow over the

Windowsill,

We meet

Halfway to the ground

Hold each other close and

Don't hear a sound, we kiss /

You bought me a tree,
But like us
It was artificial.
Growth was stunted
From its beginning
Never able to access its potential.
I didn't realise until now
The gift was a metaphor for the present,
How we had to branch out
To plant seeds in separate forests.
Our environments were different,
I needed grounding,
And your roots were not created to entwine mine.

I waited forever, but there was never a "right time" to tell you.
I think I found the wrong time, however.

It is too late to say sorry
When amends are pretty flowers
And
The memory resides planted six feet under
The green grass
And weeds all growing over
The
Scar in the earth
No matter
The tears you water
The ground under
Your feet
Or the rose in your hand
So next time
Grow
Your flowers where
You vow to get planted
Yourself
Or grab a handful of
Earth in your hand
And dance
Breathing
Hard and
Smiling