A Barbaric Yawp

Roots

Dig in deep, they said at birth.

Cling to home, to mother earth.

Do not flee at flight of mirth.

Silent safety will be your berth.

But no matter how deeply in dirt I hide,

There's no outrunning what starts inside.

I started growing a different way:

Changed my color, changed my shape,

Took the lush with the decay

And swept the blistered blooms away.

But no matter how lovely becomes my tree,

It does not change the roots of me.

Like claws in quicksand, I can't let go,

Caught in a lusty olden throw.

Shoddy seeds are sickly sown

And only thorns are overgrown.

But no matter how deadly seems the dive,

Whether soul or root are dark-derived,

I will choose to live, not survive.

Through thorn and bloom, the tree will thrive.