‘Shoot’ing High…

The tenderness of a sprouting shoot,

Potent to bear thousands,

See’s the world with the naive eyes,

Gets Stepped, scratched, abused but still amends.

The young green tendril,

Naked, Curved and weak,

Steps out from it’s slumber,

Ground, stone or from creek.

The dark cold solitary cell,

With no wind, no sunshine and no condition well,

Sleeping in some unconscious soul,

Green, Brown or smoky coal.

The first two leaves aiming high,

With crimson red shade like a red pie,

Smiling in sunshine and dancing to the beats of rain,

It was born to the spirit of happiness,

Born to grow insane.

Each neonatal,

Plant, human or cattle,

Learns to grow,

With no fear of brow,

I Wish all could stay neophyte,

Having no real potential,

Yet jumping high with all their might.

Neophyte

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Love the visual imagery

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s