Stubborn root I pretend is not there.
In truth, it’s an eyesore I can not bear.
I tried chopping it out to no avail.
With blistered hands that are certain to fail.
Root clings to earth with an iron death grip.
Claws at my soul amidst scattered wood chips.
The root within is most stubborn of all.
It has been growing ever since the Fall.
Defeat is the undone and diminished.
Hope is knowing it’s already finished.
Copyright © John Grindle | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment