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.