Buried Seeds

Like a flower with no petals—naked, yet rooted.
The wind blew and stripped away the weakest parts of me.
My prettiest colors had their season to shine,
but my roots?
They never withered.

My roots run too deep to be reached with a shovel.
And by the time you dig that far,
you’ll find yourself standing in the garden of the next generation—
uncovering the same soil packed with generational stones.
Some thrown at us.
Some thrown by us.
All settled in the dirt we came from.

Crunched petals rest on my surface,
but I’m still growing—
quietly, in the dark.

I’m a seed that cracked open,
nurtured slowly over time.
Even now, my bald-headed bulb thrives in the wind.

I’m rooted.
Unmoved.

-Incouraged