“The Name Beneath the Soil”
I built my name on paper and stone,
called the world a place I owned alone.
But time, with patient and silent
hands,
erased my maps, my claims, my plans.
The earth did not argue, did not
deny,
it simply waited as years went by.
Now I am soil, and soil is me—
no borders, no titles, no “mine” or “we.”
The name I carried, sharp and
bright,
has dimmed into the endless night.
And all that remains, so calm, so
true,
is earth remembering what I once knew.
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