It died like the earth
our souls lifeless and dried,
desert-crisp and withered
waiting again to catch fire.
That dry spell was strong
our habitat was struggling,
in order to survive,
I had to cut off my arm.
The solace with nature,
is that cutting is planting,
beneath the earth is rich compost
this drought has been hiding.
New bark, new leaves,
what ends is the snout of what begins,
my cuttings had to sprout new buds
again,
to make the most of our heartbreak.
YOU ARE READING
Live
PoetryOur hearts are brave as fire, minds gentle as earth, dreams are fluid as water, and our souls are as free as the wind. (Poetry and Prose) #2 of the end-live-begin trilogy.
