Waiting, wilting,
Water.
It's a cycle, like the clouds
Bound to be, yet
Unbound by bureaucracy
And me?
Pot or not I'm stationary.
My branches vary
And my roots will seek
Unbidden and unimpressed
By rock and walls and things
That take patience to crack
And creep through.
We seek sun, sustenance
And supply you with
The requirements to breathe
And yet I am waiting.
Wilting.
Wondering when I'll find—
Drowning.
About the Creator
Obsidian Words
Fathomless is the mind full of stories.
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