The little garden

Stands strong.
Though currently
lacking in vertical stature,
It holds hope through cold of summer,
Ice in its blaring heat.
This minuscule field
Is a beacon of light in the
dark of day.
A bad neighborhood,
Riddled with litter,
Juxtaposing frowns
Of a
Morphed mistake of world's evolution,
A societal pitfall
A blemish on our self-combusting sun.
The biggest man-made landfill
Though not visible from orbiting satellites.
Only seen through the
hatefully regretful lenses
Of those who were too afraid of success to try.
Humans strive for self-proficiency
With a little help from friends
And though the failed brainwash of the
"We are all friends"
Campaign, we
Bypass the pleas of the people who need it the most.
All in fear of the possibility of them surpassing you.

We do not live in a utopia.
Not by any means.
However
We cannot give up.
We are a miracle.
A dream on a protostar,
We happened.
And we're here for a reason.
We will succeed at being the only life form we know.
We will.
Everyday the sun still rises.
Everyday the lion roars.
Everyday the trains still ride and the planes still soar.
Everyday, we are still here.
And so is this little garden.
Soon
We'll look at it in our fields of gold and say:
This
Is where we started.