Some mud will just weigh one down,
as it keeps gathering,
with each trudging step,
until one is so tired the weight simply topples you,
or flat on your back,
it’s taken one down,
the black volcanic kind
The sort after days of rain
Grinds one to a topple stop.
Then there’s the type of mud,
the red kind,
all it wants to do,
is take the the feet out from under one,
yes paint one from head to toe,
it will wear down even the fittest,
after one tires from getting up a thousand times,
this mud will leave one on the ground,
while it rains some more,
washing it from one,
but still one can not stand,
but to fall again,
and become painted.
Then there’s this almost white,
super light grey mud,
which one never notices this kind of mud,
Not until standing in the middle of it,
after the briefest of rain,
the hyper thin crust supporting ones life,
it just swallows,
and swallows more with each struggling moment,
sucking, sapping the strength from one between the pauses,
Deep unto the depths.
So many different kinds of mud,
What other kinds exist
A fun kind, the sort where
laughter, some fun, are not
weighted down, tethered
to a ton of work equipment (life)
where others don’t laugh at your problems
The mud of our childhood..
Get out and find some MUD! The physical fun kind.
Please don’t throw any of the other kind…
Originally the above was written based on physical experiences with mud while being expressed as a metaphor piece for what it’s like when people throw mud at other people. I wrote it first as a comment over on Giorge Thomas’ site, and have since experimented with a little editing and formatting.
Giorge has a book of poetry out, “The Vase Reconstructed”
Also issue 2 of “The Tophat Raven” is out… Filled with stories, poetry, and art, etc. Go grab a free digital version or read online now.