There is a seed planted
in the garden of a wee child's heart.
It was an accidental scattering;
for the roots gripped into the garden of the soul
only to rip away the true flowering,
only allowing,
for the weed to burst through the earth's floor.
The weed provides no shelter,
No nurturing,
it strangles the life out of the blooms;
that attempt to flourish in it's presence.
The weed is cut with sharpened shears.
The prepared gardener digs deep into the roots,
though the core seems steadfast.
The child within knows that there is a way,
to pluck the rootstock which is entrenched and astray,
under the soil of this life.
The questions arise upon on my tongue.
Is each one of us given a weed that becomes sown into our life's garden?
Is it a lesson of life to remove it without destroying the fountain of flowers
which rest beside the disagreeable, regrettable, unacceptable and unwanted
creation of another's fear and insecurity?
And will the relief come when it is finally gone?
by melissa rubin
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