Hidden Worlds Poem by Carol Mays

Hidden Worlds



Some things I think are overhead
Are also underneath my bed
And this is true of you, as well.
So mark my words now, as I tell:
Beneath the clothing bins we store,
Under the stairs and basement floor,
Beneath the tracks of snails and slugs,
The homes of chipmunks, moles, and bugs,
Beneath the cracks where waters run
Through garnet and magnesium,
Below the mantle—an iron core,
More mantle, crust, then ocean floor,
With thermal vents, volcanic glint,
Turtles, whales, and tiny shrimp,
Beneath the driving winds and rain,
We find the stratosphere again.
And deeper still, the moon's bright face,
Then stars and wonders strewn through
space.
So maybe now my claim is clear;
We rest upon a little sphere, and
"Up" and "Down" make sense alone
To Beings who are stuck at home.

Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: earth,humor,nature,perspective,sky
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