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Yellow Mountain Clay

I want a metal detector,
I need to dig things up.
There's so much in the dirt,
and I can't get enough.

All that was left behind,
has since been immersed.
Forgotten graves deepen,
in time's cyclic curse.

Anywhere I step,
others stepped before.
For lifetimes upon lifetimes,
in times of peace and times of war.

I regularly find remnants,
memories from days lost.
Folks before me must of known,
i'd get to them at any cost

From old poems to ancient hills,
down to the thick West Virginian clay.
Fragments of my forefathers exist,
to learn from them all I pray.

Submitted: Thursday, April 04, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 11, 2013


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Comments about this poem (The Black by Leila Ewing )

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  • Gajanan Mishra (4/4/2013 7:02:00 AM)

    Very good poem. I like it. thanks.
    I invite you to read my poems and comment.

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