Our Patch

We are given our own patch of ground,

A quiet space where boundaries are found.

We sow the seeds and tend it with care,

Protecting what is growing there.

We sweat and give it everyday,

Our work shall bloom in time, they say.

Yet if no joy lives in all that strain,

What’s left behind is emptiness and pain.

We watch as other's garden rise,

Lush and bright before our eyes.

We question, why ours lags behind?

Fear and doubt seeps in our minds.

This is the trick our thoughts compose,

A silent weight that slowly grows.

It hides the hours, the unseen fights,

Behind each patch that thrives in sight.

It never shows their toil or tears,

The quiet battles through the years.

The failed attempts beneath the green,

Just polished leaves and perfect sheen.

So we compare, and in that gaze,

We lose ourselves in a tangled maze.

Roots grow deep, but if we chose to see,

In time, they'll shape what we're meant to be.

So tend your ground, let your patience stay,

Your garden shall find its own true way.