つ ぼ み Buds
I search in people of varying status
for a seed of humanity.
In some I suspect there to be a bud
and a sun be shining down upon it,
Water be poured out on it,
feeding and nourishing it to greater life.
Others I assume will have matured growth,
singing of the blisses spring has swept along,
reaching to others, spreading its song,
and strengthening those that have yet to bloom.
But then there are those
that I do not understand,
no matter how strong my wish is to know.
Their dirt holds a seed, but the dark overshadows it
and the rain is ...
I find meaning in the air that I breathe;
It is food for the flowers.
And meaning in my footsteps
that bring death to spiders.
In my hands is money for poor beggars,
In my head is a realm of questions and answers.
Every part of me is the holder of some small fate.
I wasn't thrown together on a whim.
My existence carries a lot of weight.