I always spill my seed on fallow ground,

not apt to learn the lessons from before.

It lands without a ripple or a sound,

and withers up unnoticed on the floor.


The trick is knowing when it’s time to quit,

to stop the rot and sow your seed elsewhere;

to find a place where you’re a better fit,

instead of forcing circles through a square.


Unfurnished with the wherewithal to thrive,

I stay and bang my head against the wall,

ensuring that my line will not survive,

and nothing follows where my footsteps fall.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s