life gets overgrown: the grasses come,
the weeds grow lush and green,
while who we mean to be has fewer options,
bracketed by time;
but there's an outline still
of who we were, of what meant most when we
were far less overgrown, and full
of flight, and fun, and
fantasy
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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I like the metaphor. It’s sort of like “being in the weeds”. Like flower seeds, we don’t always bloom and don’t always get picked. This is like the parable of the “Wheat and the Tares” Matthew 13:24-30 New King James I think? I haven’t looked at it yet. Not sure. Maybe come back later.