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On the forest floor mushrooms sit,

alive on the remains of a priors passing.

No matter the size, the amount amassing,

none could avoid it at last.

A mushroom grows from the dirty past.

Much like how, one might storm away,

angry, discordant, seething rage,

a feral beast escaped from their cage,

only to return to the scene again,

repentant, renewed, tired, estranged,

forgiving,

intent to continue living,

to move forward from the past,

to outlast,

and firmly grasp

beyond what hurts,

either theirs or another’s.

Intently determined to seek to recover.

Much like a mushroom,

We each could thrive.

Flourishing boldly while still alive,

whatever our past might once have been,

may we all learn to endure the ends.

The ends that have happened

and will happen again.

May we all learn what the mushroom knows,

to be above what has passed.

Be committed to grow.