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Description
I've lost my skill for planting words
in a garden in which they can bloom
My hands hold the seeds and swallow them back
yet I fear that I swallow too soon

I've tried burying them, but they never will sprout
I've tried watering them, but the leaves won't come out
I've used love, I've used spray, I've used soil and sand
I've tried pulling their neighboring weeds with my hand

But the words, the seeds, my children are lost
My hope lies underneath the dirt and the moss
They stay stagnant so long I forget that they breathe
and my unmemorable memory ruins my seeds

I vaugely remember, a time in the south
of my yard; I was planting four seeds with my mouth
and they sputtered out quickly, nestling in soil
I recall that they thrived with such little toil

Of course, my, that time was a time before rain clouds
could drown out the seeds with poison and grey shrouds
of acid water that I could not control
and bickering winds that rushed through my soul

From that time on, my seeds sent me signs
of displeasure and loneliness from being confined
in such a small place that brew no colors of dread
This garden I built became their deathbed

Death of my plants tells me I have lost
My skills have diminshed since birth
I clasp these last seeds long before I swallow
then at last, I'm at peace with the earth.