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There is a garden in the heart
Unkempt, with brambles borne of hurt
Where fear grows, untended
Choking growth, stifling balm
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The soil remembers every fear,
Each seed of doubt, by failure planted
Each naysaying quote that does unmoor,
Each lone stem that stands unwanted
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We stand there alone–
Shunning weeds that overgrow,
And the hands that quiver
When from garden’s heart we pull.
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But a ray of light streams through this day
A tiny bloom, resilient, strong
Defies the stubborn weight of “nay”
And we see the right within the wrong.
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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 