sprout

somewhere
wrapped deep below
many layers
of muck and mire
lies a kernel
that longs to sprout
and shoot up out
of the earth
reaching for the sun
bearing fruit
but so many
forces act to
hold it captive
the cold of winter
the lack of rain
being told, time and again
you can't, don't try
too small, too weak
too young, too old
and yet still
that small hidden
seed vibrates
with the desire
to germinate
to create something
that is more
than what it is
and then finally
it finds release
as it spills from
the tip of my
pen