You wear the bark,

but the charade

bites, xylem and

phloem corked with

pseudo-sap. Leaves

wilt, dejected

heralds marking

your soul wormwood,

galled by blighted

moral compass, limbs

sold to do evil

where, rooted to

inferior soil,

your destruction

is imminent.

The Secret Garden


There grows a garden deep within,

in soul’s most secret soil,

where ferns of fear and flakes of doubt

can daintily uncoil.

The seeds I plant in mindful ways

take root and multiply,

so if I want to harvest hope,

my thoughts must hover high.



Courage stands when winds deface,

Courage keeps strong roots in place;

Courage dares to hope for more

When circumstances hiss and roar.

At times of pressure, Courage kneels,

At times of trouble, Courage feels;

For Courage knows it holds the keys

To feed a starving world –

Its seeds.

You’ll Be Ready

When clouds hailed hurt,

your harmed and crippled bloom

retired into itself,

nursing its grudges;

now snow piles on icy insult

and forces heart’s hibernation.

But beneath the soil,

where only worms are witnesses,

Roots reach needy fingers deep into


when life smiles again,

you’ll be ready.