Intruder

The tiny seed had started growing
And, oh, was this such dauntless heart:
It day by day rose high, just knowing
What it would soon be: work of art.

Making a path of joy and wonder,
One day it pierced the mellow earth.
So pure—and yet—to some such cumber:
Wishing to have prevented birth.

Malicious whispers all around it,
Covetous glares governed the air,
As evil steps started to trample
The lightsome soul that life had borne.

Brought to the ground of ancient life forms,
It quivered as it drew its breath,
And countless thoughts and storm arose then,
And from the fog: the mask of death.

A day had lived the pure being,
A day with cruel, unyielding sky
And, as the sun of life descended,
The hint of life: now petrified…

– Patricia