Cracks

This poem is an epic fail for the Madness and May(hem) prompt, but an epic success in proof that poems will find a way to get written, just like flowers will always grow in sidewalks.

We all have cracks
like sidewalks
overtaken by flowers;
or cheeks,
marked by torrents of tears
and winds of laughter 

We all are cracked
like hands working fields,
milking keys 
raising children;
or hearts,
cleaving inside children
raising parents

Or are the cracks the whole
and the space around 
the signs - 
Love, life, wisdom, pain?

We lose perfection
wholeness
smoothness
from the moment of birth

as we begin the uncertain 
adventure of life
on the certain journey
toward death 

Sidewalks pave over
roots that began
long before man mixed cement 
in rolling circus tents
Plants joyfully reclaiming
their rightful place on earth
as they fissure
poured cement 

Hands dimple from the first tiny fist
grabbing breast or bottle,
hearts break from their first solo beat 
aching from being torn from the womb,
green grows wherever it can
at its own will
against all odds

Sidewalk cracks - 
life as it should be