"A bomb of beauty and soul."


collect seeds


cherished seeds,

from out-stretched limbs,

the humble hands of fated flowers,

promising new growth.


our inheritance

of weary words from ancient tongues,

our living veins, our lengthy names,

each one a unique story

our ancestral pain,

uplifted shame,

traversing time,

pressing, fervent,

against the fleeting fabric of our lives,

straining to be heard.


the wailing moan of those in mourning,

the lilting melody witnessing a new dawn,

the enduring chant of those for whom,

hope is a means of survival.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s