The Cycle

nature, Personal Reflection 1 Minute 
Sleeping
in great, deep holes
fallen like leaf litter
to decay and mulch
and then to rise again

in a breeze's brief clarity
a grass blade
the soft sweet scythe
of spring
undigging itself

an arm above terror
a sheath for hope
broken, bruised
but almost human
in mortality's thick soil

black as sleeping

Published by abigfatcanofworms

We all walk in the dark. But if we hold hands, perhaps the dark won't be as scary.

Published

8 thoughts on “The Cycle”

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