deepundergroundpoetry.com

Untitled XXII

Hot concrete burns my soul.
Nothing but weeds grow in
half-inch crevices, reaching
out for sun and wind.

A nuisance vein of green,
spreading along tiny stones
resistant to insects
seeking nourishment.

Roots anchor deep into
underworlds unseen
by naked eyes.
Swift currents bury seeds,
cultivating useless,
lifelong parody.
Written by Eerie
Published
Author's Note
22/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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