Waterfall

Germinating words

In a field of white paper

Mean nothing, alone

A single flower

Blooming in an old glass jar

On the windowsill

A sliver of glass

Between inside and outside

Goldfish in a bowl

Sunshine climbs inside

Among the trinkets and plants

Where ideas grow

Celebrate success

And keep my failures secret

While the cold earth waits

Axe above my head

As I sit here drinking tea

Fells only one tree

I type and submit

Expect nothing in return

From the word, or axe

Running in the night

Under a half-eaten moon

I may not return

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Sam is a self-taught writer from the U.K. He believes that writing is a war against mortality.