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Poem

It lies below under linen, feathers, cotton, springs.
Not seen upon it's sow.
A tiny pea without the sun to grow wild and free.
A slight discomfort gnaws away yet timing plays a role each day.
Finally the fruit bursts forth! with quiet whimpers, wears a frown of sorts.
The tiny speck is seen as thriving tree, it's branches reach far past reality
And tear away the margin of the page in which our vision of our world is caged.
Bending down I lift the pea and gaze at dried up skin
Tiny wrinkles create a viral path leading in.
But age is only culprit to be found
I bend again, relinquish my crown
The spoils are but few yet enjoy my hard learned apology and deep humility.
If only pea had been revealed before the mind of others made it old.

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