Seedling’s seed to Earth

Simple seedling, to seed then shoot,
I pray you grow into a peoples brute.
Quiet, soft are all good and well,
but some won’t listen until you yell.

That mother Earth a champion needs,
our bravest hero now concedes.
And though I lurch into an absurd,
the champion I plant, a simple word.

Banish tyranny’s evil sword and gun,
there are spoken battles, that must be won.
Let all who live on this inhuman land,
know, no more will die from a raised hand.

Is poetry a type of math
with measured and oft random flow
which can be charted on a graph
the kind the mathematicians know ?

Or is it some kind of an art
with strokes of pen instead of brush
where visuals are the main part
built in layers with no rush

Maybe it is pure emotion
exhibited for all to see
by anyone who takes a notion
to set their inner feelings free

Some say music's what it is
with all the rhythm and the rhyme
composed by some verbal whiz
intent on beat and keeping time

This piece is a co-write with my good friend Ziggy. This is a poem/song written for Candlewith (Cat). It may not be apparent exactly why we wrote it in this way and the subject matter may not be appreciated by all, that said, I can safely say this is the most important piece I have ever been involved in and I thank Ziggy for helping to create this piece. From both Ziggy and myself...welcome back Sister.

Sister

There weren’t very many photos back then.
Carefully stored and lovingly treasured,
Mum kept ours in a brightly coloured tin
safe on the bookshelf in our father’s den
bound with elastic to hold down the lid.
There weren’t very many photos back then.
All counted not more than fifty and ten
those black and white images remembered.
Mum kept ours in a brightly coloured tin,
hung over us like an old mother hen
when to see them we begged to be allowed.
There weren’t very many photos back then