Garden

Rain was falling
Truth was now recalling
And your fate kept falling.
Down in front of you,
But you stopped trying.

Gardening was my hobby,
And my soul laid in my garden.
Impressive huh?
No it was always like that,
My soil needed rain to let truth growing.

Then I noticed that you,
Needed fresh air and freshly brewed juice,
Like hope had a taste,
Like your faith was just redirected at a pace.
Like the birds, you needed the wind to blow in your wings to seize this free state.

I put fire to those old stories,
Old versions of my selves,
That were rooted on the shelves,
Of my mind from zero to twelve.

 This
Universe, all truths and verses,
This actual life needed some love
And some dope roses,
Some rivers in time of heat,
And some fire in days of cold.

Natural allies in control.