Growing Season

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Growing Season

Roses have grown from your lips
but I only see you spitting thorns.
I must cut away all of these vines.  They creep into my skin.
Before I can sneak away.  They pull me back again.
So I must go deep into the fields and cultivate this soil.
It is there I will plant the seed.
In time I shall watch it grow strong.
Hoping for it to rip throught the earth and become something new.
Destroying all surrounding life.
An invasive plant freeing me from the hold of each thorn filled limb.

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In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

RiderPunch’s Poems (18)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Untitled new poem 0
most likely a bad idea 0
Orange rhymes with Door-hinge 1
Life On Fire 2
Destinations 1
nimbus 1
The Moonlight, The Fool 1
Beaches in Black 1
Sir Ronald of Surfwood 0
Growing Season 0
Good Morning 0
Each and Every 3
Youth and Passion: Light up the sky 0
Youth and Passion: Arrival at the Sun. 2
Custom 0
Disappearance 3
Root 4
From a Far 2