A clean, blank person, wiped down and waiting
to be decorated, to be scarred, to be filled with experience.
Every child has been dirtied and beaten,
plucked from their innocence and dropped
into a sea of t-r-a-s-h
like the roots of that old tree, gnarled and worn down.
The endless game that nobody is winning
will cut away into solidity, and then into peace.
how it once was pure; a small seed?
With paper-thin veins stretching into the soil?