Mother Earth

Mother Earth

A Poem by Janna Ruusuvuori
"

A journey inwards for the lost and wandering.

"
There is a person
Who I feel I'm supposed to be
This person has been locked up
Deep inside of me

And I don't know who she is
Or how he feels today
All I know there is a person deep inside of me
Who I'm supposed to be

I grew up speaking a language
I had no connection
Hearing all these tongues
Unable to understand

What am I supposed to do
With all this
What am I supposed to do
With all this

It is time to dig some roots
Dig inside the earth
Grow deep inside
Inside the dirt and filth

Until I hit a rick bottom
And there's no where deeper to go
And I'll keep on digging down
To the cold hard black darkness of my soul

Now there is no where ot go
So I'll rise up in the light
And bring what I've found
From deep in the ground
And I'll spread it all over the light

We'll dance in the sunlight
And we'll all dance in the sunlight
'Cause I can't go any deeper
Unit I've danced in the day
I can't dig any deeper
Because then I've lost my way
So I've got a dance high
In the sky
'Cause I can't go no deeper tonight
No I can't go any deeper tonight

So I'll play on the surface
And we'll dance and sing and laugh
And I'll play on the surface
Till I run out of gas
then I'll go back down
In the earth safe and sound
And then I'll go down deep
Into the earth with all the worms

'Cause there's no where else
That I'd rather be
In the dark dark earth
Mother Earth
That's where I'd rather be

Till I cannot dig no more
Till I cannot dig no more

https://soundcloud.com/janna-ruusuvuori/mother-earth

© 2014 Janna Ruusuvuori


My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

182 Views
Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on September 24, 2014
Last Updated on September 24, 2014
Tags: mother, earth, digging, roots, black, darkness

Author

Janna Ruusuvuori
Janna Ruusuvuori

Finland



About
A rose blood red with black thorns grow in a tower turning the hour; the waves flow as the tune follow the path of pan's pipes. The map is in pieces with many a creases, folding the love within; like .. more..

Writing