Seasons of Being (Part 4): Spring

My bones no longer have need to show

but bend when all the seasons change,

Come spring I have new seeds to sow

And watch them grow to be great and strange.

I have dug myself a shallow grave

To hide in ‘till the storm has passed

To rise from toward the sun I crave

Sift through moments I’ve amassed.

Shall I keep only the finest and fair

Bury the dark deep in the ground?

Or hold them in my arms with care

Stepping stones to the haven I’ve found.

And I will try to forge my jewels

Bloom in a world that seeks to condemn

Yet I was born to an age that is rife with fools

And cursed to suffer none of them.