Seed

Blossom faded
Sweetness forgotten
Burial, Rottenness, worms
Hidden
Seed.
No one knows
Cares
Only Spark, Hope,
In black/bloody matrix
Remains.
Past death nourishing
Small miracle green
Inverse time;
Most precious last
Petals burst
Open
Again

The Psalmist says that those who go weeping, bearing precious seed, will return rejoicing with their sheaves. It seems as though sorrow, death, disappointment, pain are just that; precious seeds. They are hopes that have died and been buried, forgotten or dreams not yet taking root. As the plant world tells us, however, they are unparalleled in value. Tulips, at death, nourish the bulb, as blossoms, post mortem, the fruit. Seeds enhanced, produced, follow. Other sorrows result from unrealized dreams. Seeds which seemingly fail to sprout; requiring soaking, transplanting, years of slow growth; watching; waiting. They become the tallest trees; the most far seeing; useful plants. Those, however, that sprout quickly and grow fast; full of water and shallow rooted; die quickly, leaving little behind.
Happiness, feelings of fulfillment are the bright blossoms in our heyday. Their death marks my true beginning, while embryonic faith, despite pitch darkness, has the audacity to feed on rottenness; growing.