Gardening

Of all the things I’ve wasted,
I miss the time the most.

Opportunities lie like decomposing leaves,
On the forest floor of my life.

The tree of my future is gnarled and stunted,
Struggling to grow in the acidic soil,
That I have planted it in.

Why is it that the sunlight of this world,
Does not reach this poor pathetic weed?

For I long to bask in the warm, nourishing rays,
Of the golden, noonday sun.

To feel the branches and limbs of choice,
Grow strong with hope and determination.

To stand tall and true above the world,
Like the fabled redwoods of time.

But alas, this is not my fate.
For I am but a weed in your garden.

Struggling for sun and soil against
Your tall beautiful flowers and proud trees.

I do not belong here,
But I cannot move myself.
Thus, clip me gently and grow strong