Darkest winter

Darkest winter night as I fumbled blind for weeds,

spent scorching days in passion and lazy fashion,

now as poison gripped I fight to nourish my seeds,

manured these weeds I fight, lured by false vision;

end near but had to happen sometime, why not now,

for haphazard toil not given a single fruit of worth,

late now to grow new as unbending time’s bow,

bleeding hands work feverishly to clear field henceforth;

pained for weeds I grew, my only kids and legacy,

why persevere to grow other legacies over mine,

just for the visitors’ unkind valuations, what idiocy,

for though longed flowers these thorns now I pine;

weeds bled with me cruel, this night without sight,

chasing to right perceived wrongs decided by might.

 

 

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