Lotus

Born of murk and mire,
of sludge and slime,
the wheels of time
in brutal rhyme
might then be twisted gyre
all twirly whirly
grimy echoes
all sitting in crippling crud
and crawling under misery
and into ourselves too often.
Now...
find the jewel
let it rise above
unfold into a
prime morrow
into the blooms wide
ascension
into victory
and wild truth
as though sewing
leaflets
as though opening pages
of swelling promise
rise to her....