to our successors

You blossoming seed placed in sterile earth
You'll soon find your soil
for now harvest from dirt.


Your soul can break it's earthly coil
ride air of heavens tide
it stays latent in clay carcass
you have no choice but to abide.

Yet walk morbid loam
with head held high
advance
find what you seek.
All manner of thorns imperil your path
but they draw blood from the weak.

So take it from me
you'll be forced to your knees
but the world stays at your feet.
Like Icarus, soar and claim the sky
be a rose that grew from concrete.