Day 83
An unworldly soul
Has been abruptly discarded
From her roots.
All the while,
She was under the shadow
Of her protectors.
Now, she is all by herself.
Lost and abandoned.
She reaches out for her roots
To seek support.
Alas, they seem to have forgotten her.
Into Words 
The only way the roots forget the seed sown is if they have their mind(s) wiped. It is not that the roots have forgotten, they merely became the parent bird kicking the baby from the nest to fend for itself (I am just guessing, not knowing exactly to what or who this references…it could be a story you saw on TV for all I know). I am not sure how many species, if any, are guaranteed to assure every child is properly living on their own before cutting ties…and why cut ties at all if they are family? I suppose, in some species, it’s because certain primal feelings get confusing. Mothers have kids with kids. Mothers eat mates after laying eggs. It’s all a big alien mess. 🙂 I am not sure where I am going with all of these analogies; they are just the seeds of my mind at the moment.
What makes this “she” “unworldly?” And, please define “unworldly.”
The tough truth of what I conceive as “plant mentality” is that not every seed cast from the “pod” (or root plant) is guaranteed to flourish as is intended. If you buy a packet of flower seeds and hope to have every single one bloom, you are likely to be disappointed. If a man thinks he can have as many kids as he has sperm, he is surely disappointed. And, yet, so many “trees” give so much fruit that is wasted or not appreciated. So, where is the sanity or logic? Some cannot get enough while others waste excess. The west coast can be on fire while the east coast is getting flooded. Cruel irony? A demon’s trick?
Hopefully, this cast-out female seed can find fertile soil and/or another soul to “cross-pollinate” and flourish. Or, find that all the root information she needs is within her casing, just waiting to be discovered like the child cast into the swimming pool learns how to swim or the child let loose from their parents’ hands while learning to ride a bicycle.
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I like how you take interest and go around exploring different ideas and possibilities, trying to find the true story behind the words of my poems. Sometimes I feel my poems are a lot sillier than your in depth analysis. But it always intriguing to find your interpretation of it. I love how you play with the concepts, arguing and counter-arguing with yourself, trying to find the nugget of truth about the world we live it.
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Live in*
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Well? What else am I supposed to do? 😛 I don’t know if I should be proud or embarrassed for not simply either liking or disliking something (creative) I encounter. Others can just turn their nose up or applaud. I can’t stop picking things apart and dissecting them and/or looking at them from different possible angles. Part of that comes from not knowing the artist well enough and trying to wrap my head around the thought behind the output. It’s like listening to a song and liking the beat without grasping the lyrics. And, there are plenty of songs like that, songs that sound good to the ear if you don’t study the lyrics. But, when I do study the lyrics, I am filled with questions.
Okay, and now I am embarrassed. Well, if they are “silly” poems, then you’re just beating out feelings in the moment, and I am trying to turn them into novels or historical journals, so we know what really happened with that Abe Lincoln and not just craft colorful stories.
I guess I have no one to compare notes with in person; so…I have to argue with myself?
I just feel long-winded and like I might be spending more time with people I don’t get to sit with than I should, right now. And, that’s nothing new.
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