The Beauty Of Mud Poem by Lazarus Knix

If you’re out walking after a rain,

The night seems still and strange.

Earth, illuminated by transformation,

Beckons the wanderer’s senses

Like the long, bright scarf of a young woman,

Wrinkled by her friendship with Autumn.


Cricket’s call out west and east,

Their throats moist with renewal.

The Scene is an elegant Arabian Bazaar,

Opal stars, emanating wonder,

Overtly tempt you like virgin prostitues.

The wares of the world cry out for inspection,

Like a babe comforted by

Her Mother’s presence.


But a strange fabric impedes the steps

Your boots struggle like weak insects on fly paper

Beneath you, there is formless mud.

Perhaps a simple patch of land before the storm,

Now, a sludge not fit for footsteps.

Irked, your eyes shoot downward

For deep within, some part of you

Knows that often, we are what we hate.


All things were once mud,

All forms were once formless,

Though we see nothing special in it

The rain clouds did.

They, with there omniscient eye,

Saw a petite flower

Or a great oak.


Remember that what seems insignificant dirt,

Is often a dormant, fiery rose.

And that any can see beauty in being

Yet, Almost no one can see it

In potential.