On Buried Artifacts

A poem

I don’t go to the store anymore.

I just go outside,

Digging in dirt, unpacking earth

To reveal the treasure it hides.

Pots and pans, an old Roman door,

There’s no telling what I might find.

“Are you a nut, batshit crazy?

Please stop digging,” they all chide.

But I still don’t go to the store

Anymore because all that I need,

I find like a seed

Planted under the floor.

Reviews

[Satoshi IroTzu]

Respect, M.Hassen

Poem has a lovely flow. I can feel the miss-understanding on "their" side. In a way, I feel a call for attention on "your" side. Also, there is a feeling of strong determination like you will only stop digging if they give you their full attention and care.

[M. Hassen]

Thanks, I think you've picked up on an important theme regarding the motivation of the narrator. Is he just a defiant, deluded madman as "they" say? Is there something in his idea that everything he needs has already been made before? Is he trying to converse with them, as you suggest? It is definitely a main question I'm trying to pose.

[Satoshi IroTzu]

Respect, M. Hassen

Maybe the narrator is tired of the world and people that surround him. Maybe all he needs is peace and quite. Maybe all he wants in the end is himself and his little world that is entirely knitted by his meaning. As well all should (as long as it is in accordance to life itself).

[WittyWonka]

People often cite madness when they encounter anything that goes against the accepted and expected norm. The greatest threat to conformist beliefs and attitudes is the individual, which your narrator clearly seems to be. What appears to be madness for some is contentment for others. I'd say to the narrator: dig on!!

[Jacob Clifford]

The narration shows signs of obsession. I like how there's a feeling of the other people not understanding.