#224 (alive, wildly, indomitably)

I want to throw out

seeds and watch them grow

some might flourish

some might remain

in the cool, dark soil

unborn ideas, waiting

some may keep

a murder of crows



I want to wait

for the grass to grow

tall and lush

to watch the breeze

letting it flow in waves

I want to watch it grow

and wilt and wither



I want to become

a sickle made of grass

soft yet unyielding

cutting down

ignorance with

the most tender blade


© Matthias Geh, 18th March 2018

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