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    mogwhy
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Moggy's Mutterings - 46. A Weed

A great man said:
A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.
I’ve never been a rose in anyone’s garden.
I am a lonely seed.
Drop in by a stray breeze
Hoping no one notices,
So I can be a part of the beauty.
All too soon,
I’m spotted.
You are not wanted.
Ripped and tossed away.

A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.
~Leo Buscaglia
Copyright © 2017 mogwhy; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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3 hours ago, Sweetlion said:

What happened to the lonely seed?

It grew to be a small and delicate wild flower.

Poppies, dandelions and other nature's joys,

While called weeds,

Ripped and tossed away,

Burst in new seeds

Spread by the winds.

Their beauty fought,

But never destroyed.

 

:hug: happy you are here @mogwhy

 

1 hour ago, Sweetlion said:

:blushing: nah, just a present for moggy

 thank you my sweet lion man! it is very welcomed balm for my soul

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On 11/29/2017 at 8:34 AM, deville said:

A rose is cut and pruned and forced to bloom on command , to conform and perform. A seed is wild and free to grow and influence wherever it chooses. Seems to me no one here is going to rip it out or discard it, but love and nurture and cherish it. A powerful  poem despite the immense sadness it contains. 

thanks! i guess i should embrace my wild child within:glomp:

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