All Will Be Well

Life cut short by the edges of sharp words;

You were not the first

And you will not be the last.

Silver linings are how I have lived my life;

Going from one optimistic hope to the next,

Never dwelling on their criticisms for too long.

“That is a lie you tell the world

To see if it will pass as truth”,

The stump speaks to me.

Her bark is wet with salt water

And scaly with tumor like growths

Syphoning away the remaining life from her.

“You are just like me,” she rasps, “hollow, a shell

Of what should have come to pass.

You are filled with grief and anger and hate”

She has ripped me open

And spread my insides for the world to see

Or for me to suffer.

“Do not fret child,” she soothes, “for we are the same.

My wounds yield new growth;

Do not fester, for you have work to do”

And from the gaping hole in my chest

The smallest seedling is growing

Now that the light can truly reach it.

As I see mine I also see hers;

New and green and brimming with potential.

“We have work to do” it whispers,

And so we do.