The grass is feathery and beautiful
it makes others laugh, smile and tickle inside.
They don't want to look past it.
Till one noticed that it was fake,
ripping out of the ground and cramming it back down,
the lava boils underneath me, the ground.
Others disagreed they thought the grass was pretty.
One said "I wonder if it's as beautiful on the inside as it is out."
So I gave them a challenge, and shovels
to dig deep, as far as they could reach
to see what it was like inside.
At first they could not pass
the marble shell
of present and past,
but the earth wore me down crying puddles
and I shook, the ground shook, and broke down.
Some got inside.
They had yet to see the beauty as above,
but dirt, full of lies, deceit, hate and crimes.
They forgave me of this when
they hit glass and silver
looking down into a mirror
they all told each other "I look just like you."
Many hated this and turned back
to level ground.
The leftover's dug deeper
hunting for a treasure.
What would they find?
A gold mine, or a heart of black, cold, stone?
Few made it and encouraged me to let others root and blossom
so they might see me shine through.
None have yet to go again to find me,
the real me,
and my true identity.
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Published: May 2008