Flowers

In went the trowel of thought

contemplations at midnight

evading sleep

drawing out night

till light reached out

smeared the planting grounds

with fresh concerns

earned by bills in boxes

seeding a new crop

of uncertainty

from tired soil still young

at twenty-four neither abused

or belabored to excess but just

enough to leave a rough

impression

in unmarked flesh

compressed

by nightmarish what-ifs and

beautiful dreams of the same

name

there's no shame

burying the worrying in hopes

that may not come to fruition

or hushing intuition

with a little ambition

fertilizer in dirt

leeched of value by too much

time beneath the glare of their

eyes

the demise of weeds

sprouting and self-doubting at

the finger-wagging

all uprooted

by those stalwart flowers

blossomed by their own

meager power

waiting for the shower

or just a smatter of praise

to rain and unfurl the petals

of something more