the words that once rolled off my tongue
were bitter and picked way too young.
by a child whose ears were clogged with lies
lies that inked over fresh blue eyes.
these words that grew were potted in soil,
soil watered by nothing but family oil.
nothing good came from these sprouts
except sadness and burdening doubts.
and then one day a new sound appeared
pushing the girl to disappear.
she left her garden for days on end
but soon returned with something in hand.
the child whose arms were weak,
whose soul was bleak, had traveled the world for the cure.
back she brought water so clean,
water so clear
it washed away the ink clouding her ears.
and with reborn blue eyes
there was a new child.
a child who grows with her garden
and with new thoughts are beautiful blossoms.
"water your own soil"
07.10.19
YOU ARE READING
ken
PoesiaI completed I ken /k e n/ n. 1. one's range of knowledge or sight. ❝you're a ghost boy completely translucent your bones, your flesh they've all completely faded into the death of a story a tragic story titled love ❞ ➸ a collection of handwritt...
