All those years underground,

below the surface,
cradled by rock and clay,
tracing with tendrils

the texture of the dark,
all the secret faces.

All those years underground

could not hold
when storm or dozer struck,
toppled the trees,

ripping against their will
the roots of generations.

All those years underground

did not prepare
these orphans of the dark
to stand alone,

to walk the glare of day,
cut off from the usual.

All those years underground

fall like dried clay,
leaving only traces,
shadows across fences,

a dark never deep enough
to welcome the broken.

All those years underground.

Parallax Views

4P Creations

Text and Photographs, Copyright © 2006 by Gary S. Rosin