there floats a mustard seed amongst the waves.
The soil it seeks but finds not to sprout.
For shelter it finds not in rocks or caves
Yonder shores seem to only be a dream
As the tempest winds blow against its will,
the storm yields not to bleak hopes and esteem
Adrift in darkness its soul filled with chill
But every squall in time must subside
and through the current its path be bound
Gently swayed, the seed driven by the tide
The sway of the trees are a joyous sound
And upon the gentle beaches finds land
Its roots become buried within the sand.
Authors' note:
I do apologize if this one is a little rough, I might go back and explore this concept later. This was my hand at attempting to write a sonnet which admittedly, structured poetry really isn't my forté, however I am working on changing that. I will probably revisit this concept again sometime.
