A poem

A vining plant growing upwards beyond a trellis
Photo by Shelby teach on Unsplash

My past is like the dirt
Of the forest floor
The quiet, restful, food
Nourishing my will —
Like reaching ivy —
To burst forth from the ground
And curl towards the sun —
Like I believe
I’ll get there.
Leaves crispy and spotted,
greying and motted —
I’ll get there.
For with every death,
My…

--

--

Ordinary Thorn

Ordinary Thorn

Professional Eccentric. Unprofessional Organizer. Writer. Cat lover. Tea drinker. Frugal & Utilitarian Minimalist. Van (or truck camper?) Lifer. Poetry Fan.