Isn't it Something

The dirt beneath our feet has existed as long as this Earth. And we don't even truly know how long that is. Isn't that something.

Isn’t it astonishing,

To see the rays of sun

Pouring through the leaves

 

Isn’t it something,

That each and every ray

Is unique to what you’re seeing

 

Isn’t it breathtaking,

When a crashed wave

Sprays mist onto your face

 

Isn’t it something,

That Ancient Rulers

Once felt that very same mist on the face

 

Isn’t it astounding,

To think that dirt five feet beneath us

Has been there since the birth of Earth

 

Isn’t it something,

That we do not even know

How old that dirt truly is

 

Isn’t it something,

This thing called life,

The beauty and the grace,

The long roads ahead, the forgotten and the dead,

The tears and the laughs,

The Fathers and the Mothers,

The feeling of power,

The dirt in our hands,

The feeling of Death,

The falling of the sands

 

A life with no meaning,

Only to live.

And that one final Journey,

That thing we call Death.

 

Isn’t it something.

Isn’t it something. 

Author's Note

I looked down at the sunlight poring through the trees above, hitting the cracked dirt, and thought: Isn't that something.

Reviews

[lightsong]

You've brought into Your poem some of these things I think about too! I can't even pick a one because there are many, the mere thought is that just stop for a moment and think that in this very place You are standing on there are many whom have been here too, yes...

"Isn’t it something,
That Ancient Rulers
Once felt that very same mist on the face"

Exactly my friend! a wonderful piece indeed, and it is something!