There is hope in little things
Sprouting up when diligently watered
Buried in the warm embrace of thick soil
Talons extending deep for nourishment
There is hope of for frail things
Of the discarded, and unneeded
Shall I then bury the mass here
Of the unloved, and unwanted
Will then its talons stretch forth
To find the nourishment dashed
When we cut the living cord
When watered will it grow
And sprout a million others like it
Fruits indistinguishable from the rest
Or just one unique story
Whom is just searching for another
Warm, sunken cave
Another pregnant earth
In seeds with pliable bones
In cries never heard
In the soft plop of the red waste
Plant then those little things
And watch your sadness grow
Watch the despair bear fruit
Watch the haunting ripen
And eat the deceased flavor
Of the wanting seed
Here
Here
Stand here in the precipice
Bent, bowed, your knees shaking uncontrollably
Breath forced out, coerced out of your body
Here
The pressure of your bladder is wailing
The gaze of something terrible lies ahead waiting
Look meekly and be afraid
Here
A leaf amidst a torrential storm
A meat being fed to a chained dog
Be an offering for fear
Here
Take a step forward
Be horrified
Be brave
atticrage 