It springs from the ashes
of a devastating fire
and yet I cling
to the chance
that the pain,
the charred ground,
the wasteland,
can somehow provide
the ground, the foundation,
the nutrients
that the soil needs.
And that sometime,
however small and frail,
the little green sprig can grow.
***
This poem is the last in a collection of four. “Sea Glass” and “Salt Water” are also installments in this collection that are available on this site. If you liked this poem, please check out more at my website nathanheardwords.com! You can also find me on Facebook @HeardWords, Twitter @N8HeardWords, and Pinterest @HeardWords.
Like
Share
About the Creator
Nathan Heard
I'm 20 years old, working on my sixth novel and publishing poetry and short stories in the meantime! nathanheardwords.com
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.