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