toward the sun

swirling,  twirling,
fat brush thin brush,
 fingers creeping
ink weeping

seed pods grow
leaves flow
across a sea
of blue and green
things unseen
secrets revealed
layers peeled
and leave you asking
is it love?

or expectation
a seed takes root
toward the sun
despite the odds
it presses forth
and leaves you with a sense
of hope...

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