Free-form poetry

Search your heart, what’s there?
Dry as a desert? A wasteland?
Or is it fertile, like good bottom land refreshed and recharged by the floods of spring?
Will things catch there, grow?
Or wither and die in time?

A life-spring of chances, rich row crops of maturity.
Or a dead lakebed, cracked with salt and barren forever.


gautami tripathy said...

Now you are speaking my language. I like the way you let go of your mind, your thoughts here. You created a wonderful piece.