Little thistle

a short pain.

Little thistle on my foot. 

Has thou grown to see the light of day?

Are you a part of what erupts from nature's dance.

At first glance, a pain to be ripped out.

And then the realisation that all fights.

To be here, to be alive is to strife.

Competition makes us strong.

But far how long?

Does not the tao say:

To weaken something let it reach its full stretch first.

Must you remind me of my mortality? 

Must you show me blood? 

Memories come as a flood.

Childhood memories show hidden scars.

Scratches and bruises healed.

Little thistle on my foot.

Is all as it should?