It is not easy just wishing it so.
Yet quite simple believing it be.
This mighty oak I am trying to grow,
Must be nurtured through the essence of me.
Planted deep in faith's definitive clay.
Resolute against the mightiest storm.
Those winds of shame that blew childhood away,
Can't change my desire never to conform.
But when fear creeps through ancesteral roots,
And branches tremble in tortuous breeze,
Often I am stripped of ripening fruits.
Given back to doubt's cancerous disease.
Apples and atoms blend into the earth.
Where unfulfilled dreams mulch into rebirth.
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