Roots

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


A bit early, but...something's changed. Something that tells me that it's necessary now.

Submitted: June 12, 2018

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Submitted: June 12, 2018

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Roots

 

This story is special:

It’s not about who I am, but what I know.

Words after a long day from home,

I’ve planted the seeds to watch my roots grow.

 

A valley of silicon,

A mountain to the North.

Bodies of water on either side,

This land calls the distant ship forth.

 

Misty mornings come,

The child waits by the window.

Sun streaks across the bay,

Like a daily innuendo.

 

Lights up from the hills,

And in the valley below.

Millions up early,

None with the ‘early-morning’ glow.

 

Kids at the stops,

Kids on the corners.

One difference between them,

One’s bag is fuller.

 

Newsman is up,

A voice on the radio.

Same voice in every car,

He’ll be there tomorrow.

 

But there is no tomorrow,

For the commuters on the bridge.

Every day is the same,

Working to fill that fridge.

 

Everyone’s got work,

Everyone’s got debt.

Quoting Lin-Manuel,

‘Everyone’s mad stressed.”

 

And still they press on,

“Boats against the current.”

If only we were all machines,

We’d just replace our circuits.

 

But we aren’t.

And we can’t.

We are human,

No better than ants.

 

Still that’s what I admire,

About the way we are.

A collective working together,

From the ground to the stars.

 

Roots don’t grow alone,

They are made up of many parts.

These roots, they run deep,

Borne from restless hearts.

 

This city was built,

And this sea was sailed.

That valley was named,

And that mountain was scaled.

 

In each of those places,

Have we laid our roots.

Long days have been spent,

So we may relax our boots.

 

And so we work against time,

Our faults and our wills.

This story tells us,

That is what fulfills.

 

So lay your roots,

And kick in your heels.

Start up your engines,

And turn about your wheels.

 

And join me as I go North,

To lay new land,

But still call this place home,

The sight of my last stand.

 

Ave.













 


© Copyright 2018 Dan Zuniga. All rights reserved.

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