Somewhere, wrapped deep below
many layers of muck and mire,
lies a kernel that longs to sprout,
shoot up out of the earth,
reaching for the sun, bearing fruit.

Yet so many forces hold it captive.
Cold of winter, lack of rain,
being told, time and again,
you can’t, don’t try, too small,
too weak, too young, too old.

Still that small, hidden seed
vibrates with desire to germinate,
to create something more than what it is.
Then finally it finds release,
as it spills from the tip of my pen.


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