We moved about the soil with filthy hands
dried from lack of rain and more dust
than life within the fallow soil
where nothing grew
and roses hung like withered cocoons on lifeless stems.
What brought us into this place,
this tired garden with no color
in a colorless world
where over there, sprawling farms of green
lay beyond the stretches,
places we could never seem to reach.
We dug out the dirt
hole upon hole with our seeds of magic,
praying for something to take,
waiting for anything to thrive in this place
yet we watered with tears
as the ground greedily sucked each one away,
and nothing grew here in this bed
except weariness and bitterness.
We left when I was small, tiny almost
yet so very large in my mind
and I looked above for that was my garden
and I do not plant still today,
for within is the richness I hadn’t found then,
in each word,
each thought
and each feeling I encounter,
I bloom here where I am planted
and I live
I thrive.
I chose two minutes for a timed rolling piece of conscious thought here with this poem…I planted the seed after seeing many posts about roses, but as a child we only had poppies in a tired dried out garden bed. This is what I made. Peace and love, Kim
Peace, Love and Patchouli 