How silly does it seem to reach as a baby to the sun
simply because it makes you
Would it not make more sense
to befriend the dirt
Nose turning, squeal enducing
we in modernity have forgotten how good it feels
to feel the dirt between our toes in the shadow of a problem
chop them we do,
be it trees or ideas.
We still have chosen to reach for what we cant have
as the dirt browns your skins and fills your pours of ignorance
you could learn know your place.
We do not walk with gods anymore
we cannot grab stars and sit on clouds
we neither talk or learn the sounds of what it means to learn.
As it is integral for growth to have time
if we wish to walk with gods again
if we wish to paint our feet brown and eat the clouds
then we must take the soil that humbles our complex
spread it over our bodies
paying attention to the strokes of our hands
and paint ourselves out to be not what we are
but what we can be.
A muddy mess of soil that knows its own chaos
but chooses to be a master of artistry in how to become.