Dead Roots/Poetry

Dead Roots

Without dead roots I,

only can live,

Wrenched up,

from naught,

here to nothing.

Why did I pull?

Digging for gold,

to find katniss,

an edible meal,

for the wealth.

Like a fine ivy,

along and climbing,

into the next,

window.

I see sunlight,

splash upon,

the pretty tendrils,

Old-fashioned grape vines,

along the pane.

How could I not-

pull up the roots?

I had to konw,

the beauty overcame money.

That panners,

see gold,

more precious than plantlife-

I cannot see.

Now I have tea-leaves.

Yet no throught

or anticipation,

prepared me to

see the shelf,

of the dead roots.

I pulled them from the dirt,

to make better,

but for me-

they died

like my inspiration.