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The growth spurt

In the dark, dusty corners
of an exposed brain;
a seed has been growing,
past roots of deep pain.

A little hand of compassion,
intuitive to unseen travails,
planted love in kind fashion;
a seed so small, now pivotal.

Method of the many masks,
now a common commodity.
Her own, a burdened task;
heavy, after the heart’s robbery.

Without sunlight and care,
the seed sat amongst ruins.
Holding what could be spared.
A brokenness that drew in,
sentience to what's not fair.

“Frowns can easily reverse,”
with the makings of a new mask.
Turning to find, more ruins;
and a heart made of glass.

Falling into cold corners,
coming face, with hard truth.
Blimps of parts played -
Bright-eyed, young mask,
impulsive and afraid.

Venturing the realm,
of lucidity and continuity.
A seed’s foundation to grow.
Taken back, to simplicity;
where eternal love flows.

A tear shed for a little one,
who knew from the start.
That love was abundant,
when opening her heart.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 

Comments

I found this very hard to read.
To you it was a logical train of thoughts.
This is where we must be careful as we are sending out works to many people.
It seemed to portray a beginning of a child and its progress until
greeted by the love of its Mother.
I is confused , please help.
Yours Ian T

Words can build a nation

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