The Black (part one)

                The Black (pt. 1)

I am not sure what I was expecting


We have this-

This potential

And those who chip away at it

With their gold encrusted pick axes

-while mine leans enviously against the cave wall,



The world lays before me

At an arms-length

Awaiting me to take a step;

I leapt

And landed on a fruity walkway

Traced in bright red seeds

And sandalwood trees

My cold feet warmed under a promising sun.

I was ready

I was rare

Grease in my hair from mornings without showers

No showers, only a yellow sky

And a puddle of thick black ooze consuming

The fruit on the ground.

I wonder, had I fell from a tree

Would the black eat me too?

Are the fruits doomed

From the moment they grow?

The ooze has no favorites

The seeds have no future

The fruit is always sacrificed

To the black.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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