Out of darkness
into the light
from the murkiness
into the might

We are the starter,
- the seed

Love is the water,
- the need

Hope is the reviver,
- the patron

Foe is the weather,
- refining the passion

Without these would the seed
instead of fruit, yield weed

Becoming futile, and useless
completely sterile, and meaningless.

Not in the best soil, was I sowed
but in the one that I was owed
with faith and love was I watered
with hate and woe was I weathered

Through the tragedy, the pain
came the loss, then the gain
after trauma, will be peace
before warmth, a little breeze.

For long I wondered
why must I be shattered
but just before I could give up
in my ear, a little voice spoke up

Know with certainty, and trust
that I, that you, us,
are not just decorative pieces
here to fill the world’s empty spaces.

Wake up!
Listen up!

To the little girl, the little boy
the big whirl, the big joy
laying untapped and asleep
dormant in your deep
hear their loud scream
with a dying desperate dream.

For years I heard but silenced
for too long I feared and sentenced
myself to never turn around and dare
listen, respond, and care

this is me, this is you, us,
after denial, hurt, no self trust
now made alive to the truth
that behind all the empty pursuit

The Fruit.

From dust we came
to dust we shall return
yet the fruit is to remain
untouched by the earth’s burn

Always serving through the pain
is she, your purpose and destiny
changing the cycle, breaking the chain
will she, bring forth harvest and legacy

She took me out of the dark
into green pastures
she mended my heart
restored my failures

She gave me back my sight
healed my brokenness
revealed to me the light
transformed my liveliness

Upon you, she looks down from her tower
with a strong goal and force that is able
for she comes equipped with endless power
arms stretched out, offering you a seat at her table.

As a seed, was I conceived
In the heavens were they pleased
in her hollowness, I sprouted
out of my her womb, I germinated

though it took an eternity, 9000 years exactly
for my soul to finally
realise that for beauty was I made
as my fruit took a hold of my fate.

From her innermost I listened as they debated,
all night long they speculated
a constant succession of push and pull
at times empty, usually full

“I thought we were done with this part of out lives” - said mother
“Apparently, we aren’t” - replied father

I often wonder what could’ve
or dare I say, should’ve,
been my conclusion
if instead of a debate, was a celebration

“My body is devoid of energy” - continued she
“And my mind of will” - confirmed he

I often scare what could’ve
or worse, should’ve,
been my conclusion
if instead of a debate, was a termination

The former, remains a mystery
the latter, vacuity.

"The supernatural power of a seed - a purpose, a dream - awkwardly sowed, lovingly watered, harshly weathered, through the brutal journey of truth, to finally yielding fruit." - Elvira