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Brumous Apr 24
talents are like seeds;
they grow
with proper love
and care

it takes a while to find one
but nurturing them seems

seeing others having them is amazing
"it looks beautiful,"

actually, I have one;
right here laying on
my small, soft hands

as years went by,
it flourished; showing a
delicate flower

I am simply overjoyed
maybe I got happy too much

since that naïve I
went to them
and showed them mine

without knowing
that perfection
was the base judgment;
and I was never passing that line

"what's the point of giving all MY time?"
'So, I sat by this plant;   watered it with envy;
as it bloomed dissatisfaction
built I with standards
as a meaningless façade,'
JKirin Jan 16
At the top of a hill in a land far away,
stands a seedling alone; its leaves quietly sway.

It has nowhere to hide from the blistering sun;
there's no shield from the winds that frequently run.
Empty land – there isn't a bush nor a tree nearby.
It grows there all alone, but it is getting by...

On the nights full of rain and frightening lightning,
through a quiver of fear, it would stay there fighting:
"I want one day to grow to a big, mighty tree
with a trunk wide and strong that no wind could bend me!"
Its small roots would absorb murky water from storms
and by morning it smiles as a new leaf bud forms.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, this small seedling gets bigger.
Twig by twig, year by year; to grow large it is eager.

On occasion it would get a visit or two:
cheerful birds from the sky would come down to say Hi,
and a fluffy white rabbit would drop by, out of habit;
friendly ants, butterflies, and at night fireflies—
all would merrily chatter but too soon all would scatter.

With a smile, the seedling would request them to stay
but would always hear back: "I must be on my way!"
One day, curious, it asked: "On your way, where to?"
"To the woods down the hill, full of trees just like you!"
"Full of trees just like me..." no one heard it whisper
rustling leaves, as the air around it got crisper.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, it still grows but looks small.
Twig by twig, year by year; it's alone, after all.

Having grown tall enough, the seedling now sees it—
past the field down the hill—the one place all birds visit:
a majestic forest stretching wide—a green sea!
—with tall pines, mighty oaks, and other grown trees.

What a beautiful sight! It just can't turn away!
Wishes strongly the seedling, to be there one day.
It dreams of gentle sounds running through the lush crowns,
of the comforting shade that the woods surely make.
Stretching branches—now long!—
wishes it to belong...

Leaf by leaf, day by day, cries the seedling...
Twig by twig, year by year;
"Why do I grow out here?"

Very lonely, the seedling remains on the hill,
casting shadows dark, broad, keeping leaves very still.
Hoping that through the years, it will stop being sad,
and will once again notice that this place isn't bad.

It is there for a reason not easily seen:
for the birds and rabbits, it's a sheltering tree.
When they stop to say Hi, coming down from the sky,
they are looking for shelter from a summer day's swelter
or a comforting shoulder on the days that are colder.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, now an oak, it's grown tall.
Twig by twig, year by year; it's alright, after all.

On a very nice day, after cold driving rain,
in the grass, not too far, it saw something bizarre—
the sight so peculiar and oddly familiar—
a seedling so tiny it looked almost funny!

But the sun was hot—scorching, to the seedling's misfortune.
And the leaves were trembling, their form too much resembling
of the oak's lonely past. Stretching branches, lush, vast,
it protected the youngling that was, clearly, struggling.
In the comforting shade, it could stay unafraid.
At the top of a hill in a land far away,
grow a seedling and oak; their leaves quietly sway.
I had the sudden thought “...and I’m the thing he doesn’t mind losing”

It was a little tornado of thought that I quickly put inside a mason jar and placed on a wooden shelf in my living room.

I sat on the couch across from it observing it and watching it stir.

“What a thought”

How destructive it could be to let that little storm out. It could grow and it’s winds could slowly start to peel off the walls and start to take down the roof.

So, I closed my eyes, cupped my hands and I thought of your smile–warm and tender. When I opened my eyes, a seedling had grown over my left palms.

“How beautiful”

I contemplated putting it in glass encasement, to watch it from afar, but instead I decided to take it outside and plant it near the middle of my front garden.

“This is what I want to cultivate” a flourishing sprout of life; a garden of plenitude.
Nylee Apr 2020
More words flow through,
My feelings seedlings
Keep growing,
the rain comes and sun,
The flowers bloom,
And fruits come through,
not all fruit are sweet
some leave sour taste
And as the autumn arrives,
No leaves remain on my tree
Poetic T May 2018
The deluge washed away
        the inhibitions
that kept her chained to chastity.

Now where a desert of desire
                                     was arid,
         moistness now blossomed.

Her flower was scented
             with seedlings of love
      that embellished her desires.
ryn Mar 2018
Lone seed,
nestled in the dirt.
Calling for rain to soothe
its parched skin.

Lone seedling,
finding foothold...
To brave billowing gusts
that threaten its conviction.

Lone tree,
rooted deep.
Set in its ways.
Change is but dream.

Lone fruit,
falls to the earth.
Defenseless and vulnerable.
Bearing the promise of
life and change
within feeble flesh.

Lone purpose.
To learn, embody
and pass on
the baton of possibilities
so that change...

Comes to fruition.
Henry May 2015
Screams and wails split the air
Hollow faces, matted hair
The dying human race is at its knees

Hunched forms smothered among the fumes
That gathered over many moons
Spread by those who simply couldn’t care

But there is a sheltered place I know
Formed by someone long ago
Where a shaft of sunlight filters through the dust

Through the throttling smog it soaks
The drug on which our planet chokes
And comes to rest upon the earth

And underneath this ray of hope
Upward to the light it gropes
A crack in the concrete bears a flash of green

A lonely seedling makes its stand
Against the twisted ways of man
And unknown and alone it climbs the beam

The miracle of photosynthesis
A silent struggle, pant and hiss
Flowers and seeds rain from wooden limbs

And the trees tower above the fumes
That gathered over many moons
Free at last, they reach to kiss the sky

— The End —