Garden

My mind is garden,

Choked with weeds,

Because I let,

All the bad stuff rot,

And it became compost,

For darker thoughts,

And I wonder why,

There are no flowers,

Poking through,

Because I know,

The darker the mind,

The more flowers,

Can bloom,

In the rich soil.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s