plant a seed down deep
it must die before it grows
but then it will rise
and be greater than ever
closest and strongest of all.

Everything has a cycle,
Everything has an end,
But where did it start,
And where will it end;

Flowers bloom,
Then they dry up,
They produce seeds,
And so it proceeds;

No way to know,
How it all started,
Nowhere to find,
The answers we seek;

We might ask god,
We might ask science,
But so far,
We have no answers;

We dig deeper into the seed,
We find it to be interesting,
And get some answers,
But along with that,
We get more questions;

We see the cells,
Moving around,
They all have a purpose,
To keep life abound;

We dig and dig,
The more answers – the more questions,
When will it end?
When will we know all?

Being made,
When
One ***** of light
Hums through opaque blight
To unite with excitable ground
Reminds me,
How
Creation needs
Destruction to feed
Buried seedlings the freedom to hear
Ground afar
Where
Stars echo home.
A blue catacomb
Sings in ohms, radio moans, being made.

I can feel your whip
when I pull you like a mule
I beg you to strike harder
because I can hardly feel

I am a dead horse
I'll show you my naked bones
admire their beauty
and watch my body rot

I stood in the water
tried to wash away my sins
tried to brush it off with steel
but my sentence is incomplete

You made me pull harder
and I fall deeper in the soil
mud beneath your fingers
is not like mud in my blood

You put out the fire
just to keep me in the dark
but I've been already blinded
and your whip strikes with brutal force

I try to speak up
but my lungs are full of stones
and lies you have seeded
make me pull once more

This is my last confession
I loved you and I don't
last whisper to the wind
may it carry ashes of joy

A busy man, a real nice gent.
Its often said of me.
Hard working and of good intent.
I would not disagree.

My work is of such an importance.
Skilled beyond my years am I.
Requiring such diligence.
Without that, many poor could die.

Skill is gained by repetition.
Practice must be sought.
My weekend is an expedition.
Where ladies of the night are bought.

In the darkness no applause.
An operation I attend.
Lying here without her drawers.
Her life suddenly at end.

I only take the parts I need.
That’s all I ever do
I am not here to sow my seed.
To my wife I am true.

But dangers lurk round every bend.
They have it in for me.
And so this exercise must end.
So much for liberty.

From budding seeds
To burgeoning gardens
With flowers blooming in her cheeks
And sunlight breaking in her smiles
She was breathtaking
In everyone's eyes

Which makes people wonder
What makes her so?
She always answers
Love makes her so

A seed which was sowed in fertile land
Remains in the dark to some extent
And suitable environment makes it, "grow"
With great determination, water makes it, “glow”
And it declares one day, “The land is alive”
As the seed was alive
Alive one can prove the others' life
A dead one is not able to enlighten the souls
If you are alive
Prove it with smile
and your transparent inner sight
would be able to merge the light
at a concentric point of hearts of deserving ones
As an eternal light emitting heart can enlighten the soul
As it’s the heart which makes you dead or alive
So life is reflected by deeds not by pulse
And it’s no use of
Whether the blood runs through the arteries or not
Whether you take exercise or not
Whether you are wealthy or healthy
Life is something else
Life is something else
What makes an eye, seed can not try
What makes an eye, seed can not try

I feel like a stranger,
Or an outsider as they say

I am surrounded by so many people, yet feel alone.

I feel lost in this big crowd,
Or perhaps a seed surrounded by flowers
A seed indeed

Why do they disdain me?
Do they hear me?
Do I even exist to them?
Do I even belong here?

Sighs

My mind is telling me I should leave,
But my heart refuses

Should I leave?
Or should I follow my heart instead?

**Confused