Poetry by JF Kuehnen
Who wants to understand the middle of anything?
The beginning?
The end?
We float like pollen from the plant to the earth.
Remembering nothing
But leaving,
And landing in our new homes.
We cannot recall our journey,
Or the beautiful breezes upward.
We only lay here,
Waiting for more tears
To fall on to our seed.
No complete conception.
No growth into the sky.
Only lying in the soil,
With other plants growing strong
above us.
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