He punctured her dirt soul with his iron cudgel,
She mistook the miracle as a mishap of pain,
After first mistaking it as a movement,
Away from the mundane...
Her earthen body and dirt soul,
Has been staked by man,
Who sees her as ground,
To be trodded upon...
Dark soil upon layers of even darker rock,
She's sturdy, she's strong...
The man stakes his claim,
Never knowing her bellied pain,
He doesn't know,
What darkness of shade,
He has planted in her soiled soul...
He enjoys her shade,
Eats her berries,
Carves his name,
And leaves,
Fall from broken stars in her eyes,
Sap spilling down her shaky trunks,
Hardening before greeting her dirt soul,
Preserving her sorrows in stagnant sweetness...
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