My roots exposed like mangroves
Though my past provides no habitat
For anything good to thrive in
At least not from what I can see
And history carved into bark
Like the initials of sweethearts
Declaring their affections
And undying love
Who now haven’t spoken to each other in years
Failures laid bare
For anyone who cares to notice
But no one cares
Beyond a sardonic chuckle
Or flash of fickle sentiment
Yet above the tangle
There still is growth and sprouting
To varying degrees
And of subjective quality
As gnarled hands reach out
For illumination
Ceaselessly carrying a sapling’s dream
To brush the underside of Heaven
About the Creator
Aaron Morrison
Mad Lib it:
Born during a (___natural disaster___), Aaron spends his free time exploring (___unusual location (plural) ___) and raising domesticated (___fictional creature (plural)___).
Author of Miscellany Farrago
insta: @theaaronmorrison
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Comments (2)
"To brush the underside of Heaven." Whoosh, that's an incredible line, Aaron. Beautiful read!
A very expressive piece. Good luck in the challenge!