On a distant and ill-conceived planet
Live beings constructed of granite
Their dwellings they wash
In liquidized squash
And they worship a goddess named Janet
Their faces are weathered and white
And they burn logs of wood (that’s not right)
Under skies leaden-grey
They work through the day
Till black clouds turn the sun into night
A drizzling rain starts to fall
On the mercy of Janet they call
But the stains on their souls
Fill their lives with black holes
Till each breath is a wound and a gall
A contest entry
- "Words Are The Daughters Of Earth" by malkinpuss.
1000 points, ended May 16, 2007, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Fanciful
...and funny ...but put as a parable mankind should take seriously.
Very unique!
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