laments of mr pig, truffle hunting in a selva oscura

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The light is gone, who shut the blind,


the numbness has gone to my toes.


the truth of trees i'm yet to find,


the grain of pollen in the field,


which leaves its yellow stain on a mere few,


that burns too bright to be concealed.


I'm looking under pebbles but i know that they are too.


 


to find the truth you must dig a little deeper,


for love, for talent, for music, for a vision.


a life pared back would sure enough be cheaper


but some are born without spades.


I dig with my hands, the soil is under my nails


I glance a promising glow, but soon enough it fades.


 


One day I'll find direction in a handful of soil-


roots clasping my fingers, shoots crawling skyward,


As a circus performer or in a life of toil.


If not I'll decay with the soil in my hand,


and the worms that devour us will feed 'till they're fat.


The truth will not out if it's barred in a cage,


of the mundane labours and the big empty spaces.

Created: Feb 23, 2011

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