The pine forrest is standing tall and sporadically, covering the ground with its discarded needles, only allowing what life it pleases through its dense spines.
it's cold and dark under its shade, the wind turns into sharp whistling thunder shooting through my flesh and bones.
It hurts but I do not cry.
For I am man and I am child. I have made this my living, I need it more than ever, I can't go back, the pine trees don't need me as I need them.
The wheet stands tall and in rank not allowing life of any other kind past its dense spines.
Im dry and itching in its clasp, my legs turn shades of red and pink and purple
the rash spreading deep into my skin.
It hurts but I do not cry.
For I am man and I am growing.
I have made this my living, I need it more than ever, I can't go back now, I need the wheat like the wheat needs me.
The buildings stand towering and in unison
Allowing any kind of life that it can turn inwards. The sterile lights contrasting with the unclean concrete.
It's killing me but I will not die,
For I am man and I have grown,
I have seen this world and played it's game.
It needs me but I no longer need it.
I am man and I am God.
YOU ARE READING
skinny trees
Poetrythis poem is about how humanity as a whole felt throughout time. from Hunter/gatherers to the first farmers and finally modern/post modern . I hope you enjoy.
