Seedlings sleep beneath potential's surface,
they germinate from water's flowing out of mouths,
drenching in golden nutrients,
nurturing the essence,
or if the fertilizer by toxins
stagnating what might have bloomed.
Eyes fondling the future
gaze at seeds with flower visions,
carefully and thoughtfully cultivating
what the senses say awaits to be awaken.
The face the eventually is revealed
for each gem that is planted
is never forged and fixed
when love's husbandry culls
its depth of what can truly shine.
How often life's petals,
viewed as strangling vines,
transform into a gift of beauty
if lips have more water than fire.
Hearts always sprout
from the soil where they are sewn,
finding their way to sunlight
with petals full of grace and wonder.
Unless they were drowned in waste
poured out from a mental outhouse,
which only brings into being
the foliage of negativity
so often mirroring the fingers of caustic desires
who tended to the growth.
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