Sprouting birth's harvest

Born of mud

climbed light's ladder to the sun

squeezed from a tube

rope of twisted hopes

Something inside swelling

seeking a green release

burst this corporal shell

fallen stem raising

empty hull

used discarded

essence dissipated

vacuous air

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Brava. This seems to echo the life cycle. We are no less than flowers or grass that blooms for an hour as the hours pass. We sink our roots into the soil drawing our life from trial and toil only to wither at last. And even the most beautiful blossoms pass. Perhaps we scent the wind with our existence but our fragrance is carried away with our petals, one by one. But some very beautiful things have been born from mud.

[Soren]

Thanks Fabian for the review and insightful words. A most poetic response that is most appreciated.

[Betty Hermelee]

We all sprout from something and the blossom sprouts from a bud, we all have a finite time to live, and then we fade and die; the blossom and all of us at some point in time…. And we become “ vacuous air”…” an empty hull”
A very well done piece with metaphors
Warmly, B

[Soren]

Thanks Betty for the review and interpretation it is most appreciated/

[Soren]

Thanks Betty for the review and interpretation it is most appreciated/

[Betty Hermelee]

You're very welcome Soren
Warmly, B

[AYVID N]

"Something inside swelling
seeking a green release
burst this corporal shell"

Fantastic lines Soren. This poem took me through a life cycle. The harvest be green vegetation or human, we all burst in, full of cells, full of vibrance and we all end as shells, hollowed by life. It all comes a full circle. Life to death, death to life. Wonderfully written!

[Soren]

Thanks so much Divya you caught the point whether a bean or a human being growth and deterioration are a cycle.

[Thomas W Case]

Powerful work. Great painting of the mood and scene.

[Soren]

Thanks so much Thomas its appreciated

[jacob erin-cilberto]

spring, the itme for swelling,
summer, the time for dwelling
fall, the time for felling
winter the time for telling tales and poeming.
j.

[Soren]

True Jacob thanks so much for the read and words of verse. They are always appreciated.