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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #2053752
It can be a fine line between sheltering and smothering
Bushels

We drove the flowers underground
The surface was too harsh
With petals frail, out of bounds
Exposed out in the marsh
Delicate midst wild reeds
So savage in the gloom
At least that is the way it seems
Too dark for this bright bloom
In the dark, it cowers down
From prying eyes, fingers light
Safely under bowers’ crown
The petals still turn bright
Yet not as bright as they might burn
A gamble to the sun
In fear there are lessons learned
When to walk… when to run
And in that darkness, silence blooms
As fear, it runs wild
Shadows burn and doubt consumes
Anxieties, stocked, piled
Ignorant to what they bring
Above to barren land
Arid ground with stones that sing
Midst circles henged in sand
Awaiting the right tools to dig
We pray to those who wield
A gentle hand, a druid’s pick
We play, to those we yield
Till then, they’re buried underground
Underneath scorched earth
Where empty vessels make more sound
And flowers hide their worth
© Copyright 2015 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2053752