They told me that getting hands dirty
would be a part of it.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe them,
I just didn’t count on
what the definition of ‘dirty’ truly was
In a world of shifting sands ,
bogged down by mud,
where ancient wind blows
the same sandy remains
of your ancestor’s bones
into your dry mouth,
reality is built upon foreknowledge.
You don’t expect to stay clean
and you don’t count on
the blood
and guilt
that no amount of washing can erase.
The reality is,
there is no reality devised
by those who surmise
than that which really exists.
Author notes
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/4024349/
A contest entry
- Look into the image by Hadji Murad.
300 points, ended February 6, 2007, 4 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is a very nice write. Numerous lines stuck out in their beauty.
the same sandy remains
of your ancestor’s bones
into your dry mouth,
I love those lines. They're so powerful and do a wonderful job at expressing the themes in this poem.
Job well done and best of luck! Thank you for entering. -
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Thank you. I appreciate that!
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