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.