Scissle

Irreperable and ravaged
My mind a listless bud
Ne're given breath by sodden muds
Ne're kissed by sun
That listless bud
Ne're pushed to reach
The stars above
Nor wonder Plainly of
The others blooming
Slowly shoved
Discovering such treasures
Of soused, deluging
Lands beyond
Where nothing wilts
Alike This bud
Alone and desolate
Upon the mires of regret
Cowering Beset
By shadows Which forget
The distant ease of being wet
Afar my brittle stem
Can feel the blowing of the wind
Yet on it floats a hope within
This mire
might I feel the grin?
Of fateful hope begin to spin
In favor of this brittle stem
Parched and faintly leaning
Again the wind is fleeting
Pon the ground I see it gleeming!
Glis'ning as if dreaming!
Might it be his mercy streaming!
As my roots imbibe the feeding
Vomiting the salty, steaming
Reminants of mournful leaking
From these self-forgotten eyes