After the Fire

(Image by David Mark from Pixabay)

Seeds blindly thrown
(not sewn by hands that touch the soil)
may struggle to grow deep enough.
Tiny roots fail to hold on
when the wind gets rough
It’s on those days I get blown down
and my tears they spill all over.
Where they land they’re like a message to the earth,
like tiny prayers they inform her:
This is who I am — a broken beauty
Oh take me to the fire
where I can surrender —
I have faith that love will bring us higher.
When I return I find where I…