sometiumes i wonder
if the excessive writing
that i do in the day
is to fill a void in the world
an empty, soul sucking, space
that derives us of humanity;
or if i am too full
like a bucket after torrential rain
and all of my words spill out
to be soaked up by the dry earth
thirsty for something
other than gossip and gore…
then i wonder –
if these words of mine
are like water,
what will grow
in the places they have spread?
hopefully that which gives life
but perhaps just weeds
will spring from the ground
and that’s ok
some of the loveliest flowers
come from weeds.