Blight

Beneath blossoming, neat rows Spring thoughtfully seeds Once inchoate, now transformed Were they visible, naked. Coaxed or neglected Into more important things -- Their outgrowth substantial And beating, alive. A pounding or downpour, The influence prized Insomuch as it aided Propagation. Spread. The seeds, so once tiny, Their outgrowths majestic. A flowering of ideas Sprout from little, buried thoughts. You get on your knees To try getting at them. You think that their sources Matter most, hold the souls? And as you dig deeper You murder my flora And leave me a bed Of deadness and dirt. You're killing my garden! Yet a death temporary: There are plenty of seed packs For purchase and taking. I witness their death Until nothing's left dying. You expire malnourished -- Then shall I begin.