A poem is merely the visible part
Verses sprout unseen
in free-form mental mulch,
iambic words accreting
in search of greater wholes.
The random threads of coupled thought
writhe darkly with omens of discontent,
birthed in frustrated hope,
nourished by angry dreams.
A poem erupts in sudden, shocking bloom,
a full-formed, fruiting cry for justice,
spreading subversive spores
that root in receptive minds.
Verses sprout unseen . . .
Author's note: ▼ (13 lines)