How many of humankind
think ourselves seeds growing in the dirt
certain showers will pour praise from the heavens
"nurture us, provide for us, acknowledge us !" we demand
yet we seem to forget the work of the seed in the land
so tough, so hard, so determined is the seed
that it breaks the barriers set in dirt
but do we?
do we work?
or do we sit in the Earth
questioning why the sun hasn't shined upon our face
wondering when dirt will push up our pedestal to the surface

to what shall I write on an empty day
when skies are grey
when I feel no play
within my soul
to whom can I write ink on pages
in dark ages
while rage is
within my soul
to when will I write stories of old
when all is told
when I feel mold
within my soul
Oh! Why should I write about inside emotions
disturb unchecked notions
and increase commotion
within my soul

do I dare defy my mind's pristine palace?
with challenging concepts
with wild words
to shake the foundations
within my soul
do I wish to write words true?
or explore ideas new
or release the twisted tortures
trapped deep
within my soul
do I hope for exultations?
congrats and celebrations?
for words wandering in my mind
while words lost weep
within my soul
do I do or do I die
do I tell truths or do I tell lies
do I hide or do I show
the words I know
within my soul

All I wish to see
is some melody
pour upon the pages
while the pitcher in my heart
remains unpoured
within my soul
All I wish to do
is draft divine brews
with ingredients inquired
from the world around
rather than pieces profound
within my soul
All I wish to be
is a virtuoso visionary
whose name is heard around
the world tenfold
while the true tenderness remains
within my soul
All I say I misconstrue
to bury what I knew
could never leak upon the papers
of the world
and keep my paper heart locked
within my soul

But if my pen's ink
came not from where I think
but from my chest where my heart beats
and the words I write
came not from nature's daylight
or from words announced from other's lips
but from wells
within my soul
might I find
though not celebrations
perhaps personal thanks
and reconciliation
for myself
and frustrations found
within my soul

though I trudge through mountains
and walk through deserts
though my feet are tired
and my soul hurts
nothing will stop me from walking
back to you