One Of Soil Poem by Monika Llinus

what if the days had numbers
what if each day invites your last
what if the days count your breath
what then when the days take life?

That moment when you realise
you are formed from soil
and that you are bred to return to soil
and when your depths can't hide that you're one with the soil
and soon, maybe pretty too soon the soil will claim it's possession

What if you realise you are not a chameleon
and aren't like him you can't camouflage against life
you don't change colors to refuge from death
as you just have to stick around and wait upon death's strike


Wait when they'll have to light the fires
wait on your turn
they'll surely rejoice as tears roll down their cheeks in sore pain
they'll rejoice with hymns of praise
praise unto thee
praise for your life in its deeds

The'll deem you worthy of praise
the'll praise because they never saw you before you left
they'll praise for for a departure and an indefinite absence
O' they'll sing and hail your goneness

But you, you have returned to the dust that bore you
and maybe after good days, you'll become food for the next
they'll feed on you all right
yo'll grow their trees
and fatten their stock

You are soil
born of soil
bred to return to dust
for when your rib-cages no longer expand and contract
then you'll know you're out of breath
you own a pulse no more
you are beyond effort and humanly pain
soon you'll be beyond human tales

gone
done
finally mortal