Breaking Through Soil

Beneath the weight of earth and old regret, I pressed and pushed where heavy shadows met. Hard packed around me, cold and thick and deep, where hurt lay buried and the dark kept sleep. No guide to show which way the light would lean, just will and hope and what I had been seen — to force a crack where nothing grew before, and find the strength I hadn’t known I bore. Slow, tender green first pierced the hardened crust, rising above the sorrow and the dust. Each inch a battle, each new breath a prize, as daybreak opened wide before my eyes. I left the pain still deep within the ground, grew straight and strong where sunlight could be found. From buried past to bright and open air — I broke right through, and learned to bloom right there.