PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Moist smell of soil surrounds

  in a dark body clamp the buried

  place I call home

An unreachable sun hovers over, a

  pulling but unknown and far distant

  cousin of mass

Of all I know, only important is

  knowing I am sought by miners

  and bankers

And those willing and wanting to

  shut me away again in a dark

  moist smelling burial vault

So afraid of my power, I am put

  away locked up so that they can

  appreiate me on paper.