"Man's mind may be likened to a garden, which may be intelligently cultivated or allowed to run wild; but whether cultivated or neglected, it must, and will, bring forth"- As A Man Thinketh.
He woke to the smell of soil and dew,
The nightmares creep back into his head,
The roots of the pain grow deep,
These negative thoughts have long overgrown,
He used to have control, he used to be ok.
The weed slithers up his back and into his spine.
Forever tethered to this crippling weed.
Entangled in his own web of lies,
Six feet under the stars he buries his heart.
As the vines surround to suffocate and choke,
Everything went quiet as his last exhale invited demise.
everyday he starts anew.
reflecting on his past, and things left unsaid.
nonetheless he gets to work, cultivating his keep.
he won't give up now, new seeds must be sewn.
As sweat runs down his back, his old self starts to decay.
He sheds his weathered skin, allowing new to shine.
Life courses through his body as he rewrites his creed.
faint screams are heard as the last of his ego dies.
Behold the garden of his mind; a true work of art.
he emerged a new man, as the chains on his mind broke.
He ascended to the stars, beyond the skies.
-The Cloud Watcher-