We are crude monsters

 We are  crude    monsters

 Green   blade  of  grass

As  sharp   and  cutting 

As  the    sharp  memory

Of  God  who  dwells  also

Upon the  blade  or  bunch

Sticking  on the   piercing  smell

 Earth bound  rudimentary,

Up fronting    the benefactor  sky.

Those   are  not  morning’s

Fresh   pearly     dewdrops, 

Tears  of  angst  for  we

Mercilessly  trod  upon  them,

Can you find tears from the

Uprooted grass ,the  crushed

Flies ,insignificant insects

For even when alive insignificant:

Looking  up  to  the  Heavens

I   too  trod upon the  tender

bunch  green  and   sharp   

but are they sharp to retaliate?