by Manique Inglethorpe
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Rated "G" by the Author.
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This poem is about personal growth and coming to terms with yourself
I can dream a thousand dreams,
Not one of them can flower,
I can sow a thousand seeds on stone,
Without love there is no power.
So I put my fingers to the soil,
Needing it with tender care,
Racking in all the thorns and brambles,
The sand is left barren and bare.
Love is a practise, an action, a discipline,
One that is prepared to do the work,
Love is the source of healing, needing and everlasting,
Love is what makes us grow and with growth we find love.
As the early morning sun is rising,
you haul yourself to the shed,
dragging bags and shovels your work is hardly done,
and its time to find your way back into bed.
The cold and icy chill of winter,
threatens a wary soul,
As you painstakingly prepare for the spring,
When only hope and rain can render the goal.
Perseverance, patience and a knowing deep within,
Brings the dawning of the spring,
As the seedlings begin to sprout,
There can no longer be any doubt.†
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|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|A very wise and worthy message, Manique. Thank you for sharing it. Love and peace to you,
|Reviewed by N RK
|Reminds me of a time when I dug a garden bed with a friend. I think that it might be easier than we suspect, when worthiness is recognised and self love backs self respect. Love it Maniquels. I didn't get the notification that you reviewed my poem. I think this site has some dodginess.|
|Reviewed by jude forese
|outstanding imagery and wisdom emanate from this introspective and universal motif ...|