Monday, November 14, 2011

Poem: Weeds Are All Around

Among the weeds is where I lay that day
- as the serpent swirled up my spine.

I noticed that in decay
is where the useless went to die.

The clutter of unused objects,
the negativity in my mind,
the ways I needed to be
- it all fell down to the Earth's floor.
And there it ceased to be anymore.

The sun rays weathered the objects.
And the rain ran over my mind.
All that had seemed important, seemed as fleeting as lost time.

Those objects nourished fertile soil, and told the seeds to grow.
And with rain to wash my troubled mind, I saw new things to know.

I realized that rainy day that weeds are all around.

They are the unexpected outgrowth of what we've surrendered to the ground.

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