Charades

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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

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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

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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

solidity;

when life smiles again,

you’ll be ready.