Writing Exercise: Weeds
Startled cry breaks the silence
The wind lies still for the moment
The air…
Thick,
Cold,
Polluted.
His hand…
Rough,
Cold,
Filthy,
His hand that smoothers it
His hand that muffles its words
Constant struggle with every move
…Every meaning.
The wind picks up,
Blowing its silk threads
That have sprouted from its skin
Going to that destination,
It mourns that which it calls life
…Eye to eye
… Flesh to flesh
… Pollination
It is one with the soil
It will flourish and grow
It will spread like his disease.
Eyes speak pure fragility
Not wanting to grow
No desire to be part of his garden
But it must grow!
The seed must be sown!
Dig deep!
Thick water!
Shady place!
Shrill cries give way to deadly silence
Yes his lovely weeds will grow!
Another flower clipped and buried in the soil.
Another seed planted
Now leave those weeds to grow.