It's 9:20 and my money
is on the fact that you don't give a ****,
guess I saw it coming but I'm tired of running
from everything that passes your lips
Fight-or-flight keeping me awake half the night
pay up or get out,
living in a state of constant drought
& listening to whatever ******* you're on about
slow work, waiting for grass to sprout,
but I guess we've had it handed to us, gotta reap what our ancestors have planted for us,
even if the seed is bad
can't be much worse than the days I've had.
To sooth the mind with planted thoughts
That are in soil that let roots grow
Mighty aging healthy tree
Whose seeds which we continue to spread
On earth that mighty men do tread
Let yourself become
an elegant sunflower
in a field of thorns
Think about your self less
and your community more
plant the seeds of success
that open prosperity's door.
In a world that is so full of selfishness it is important to remember to strive to leave a legacy that will remain when you're gone. Thank you to my family and friends who encourage and support me. Syd, James, Jimmy, Todd, Sheela, Courtney and Christian.
If seeds don’t tend to spill far from the tree,
I just can’t help but wonder where I’ll land.
In shame, my poisoned roots conspire to plant
unstable footing: reckless destiny.
You, cold in slow-birthed pain, beg to be free,
away from grasp of rope-red harnessed hands
while I struggle to find my feet and stand.
A narrative intended to repeat.
Don’t touch me. It’s a trap. I’ll never grow
into a pretty vessel with a use.
Dead roots infect their damaged seeds: echo
through gardens, plant by plant until they choose
to drown it out, to let the system go
and cut unfolding lessons at the root.
Like flowers, we sprout and wither.
Love doesn't live like flora and fauna do
Though we are what makes it dim or glitter.
A short rhyming poem I wrote a few weeks back. Since then, this poem has been revised.