Bringing Mud

One night, I find my way into the wood,

The path unclear and shrouded in the fog.

Daylight gone, moonbeams a suitable ray.

*

A beacon so desperately needed I,

Searching for rock's moss, a compass or star,

None arise but direction of the heart.

*

Blindly guided by beats beaneath the chest,

Wandering aimless searching for arrows-

To pluck them and return to their quiver.

*

Clawing at the grass, blades drawn from their sheath.

Softened from the soil's growth, not forged in fire.

My arms aren't weapons and beg to be quenched.

*

Clods of dirt thrust, newfound home in my fist,

Relinquished once found to be useless parched,

Thrown to the ground, seeds scattered in the wind.

*

On bended knee I surrender, open,

Eyes rain into the Earth, a waterfall,

Bringing mud to the bud of the lotus.