Heartpen: Poems of a Cardiac Quill

The Budding Poem

Roots burrow down, down,

reaching

for the parched and the

created to create—

lost in gardens where, when stems entangle,

the botanical fusion always results

in the loveliest of knots.

What I envision

buds, ambitious but lacking.

I announce, "This'll grow,"

and I have scribbled another poem,

its similes like millipedes crawling

through my verbal loam at literary harvest,

alliteration assisting all ailing allegories

so that I write smarter than I am.

Tracing the roots of my stanzas

to a brighter world

of moving green,

I refuse to be drained

by the droughts I invent

when I forget that overthinking

doesn't lead to understanding.