The Potential of Weeds

Perhaps the weeds
Are in their season
And with loving care
Will sprout flowers
Too beautiful to believe
As they’re rooted in
The soil of your
Soul

Gulfs and Such

Upon the edge I sit,
Staring across
A gulf of white,
Brutal, bitter, cold
Sings it’s song
Of death and delight.
And I know, within
My being’s depths
That the path across
Is life, vigorous and true,
Fully, finally alive.