Windowsill

If I'd fit in the windowsill I'd plant myself in your direction, I would 
use the sun's energy to make this place destination. How dare I hate 
this space I occupy, I'm left to my devices, turning to light I'm 
waiting for the cue, to beckon to the shoot, and break the crust upon 
the soil. Lack of light the iris expands, my eyes abosorb a power coming 
from behind my dim room, in my den amber and damp, as if lit by faith 
alone, I've been more faithful than you know.