Down in the dirt, a part of the lawn,
the Sun comes up, I’m a part of the dawn.
Erosion, corrosion, an atom bomb explosion,
convection leads to resurrection,
everyone is gone.
Down in the bottom pit, communing with the soil,
An epoch then an era, and we’re topping off the oil.
Sleep is a refuge not afforded to the dead,
when up on the mountain top, I’m messing with your head.
Down in the deeper darker doorstep of your soul,
Press me hard I shake apart the diamond in the coal.
Carbon copy life form, amidst a rubble civilized
sanctified-antagonizing legacy we stole.
Down in the cave of death, the rook becomes a pawn,
corpses line the floor, where have all the people gone?
Brittle bones and overtones that sing, immortal songs,
where the foolish men of history step over and over and over and onward and on.
John W. Allen