My Earth My Home

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    My Earth My Home

    My Earth My Home

    By Thehouseofruthanne

    My earth, my home,

    for a short time.

    Who am I ?

    How did I get here?

    Why am I here?

    I see,

    I hear,

    I feel,

    I fear.

    Why do I sleep?

    Why do I grow old?

    Why do I walk upright?

    What makes me think?

    From whom do I exist?

    Why do I cry?

    Why do I laugh?

    Why do I get mad?

    From what am I made?

    What makes me breathe?

    Why do I eat?

    I was created bare,

    why do I wear clothes?

    Why do I have flesh and blood?

    Does any one care,

    why I toil,

    why I pay taxes,

    or how Sam and Bill rule me?

    Why do I need Devil Green,

    when everything,

    is given to me Free?

    What is there to Fight about?

    Why is our habitat ending?

    Who is responsible for my being?

    I am.

    I am responsible for my own destiny,

    also my own destruction.

    And so should you.

    400 years after earths cleansing,

    I will be given another chance.

    And so will you.

    Why will I die?

    So others can share my soul

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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