Uncultivated

Seasons of change carry no alleviation. Struggle to keep order. A being composed of two souls one day, the other night, both fighting to ignite. Born of the same mind, Two, once peaceful sons struggle to please a tainted spirit, dooming the diminished sun. More rotten than ripe seedlings of the subconscious. They twist, and they turn, taking over like weeds smothering the sanctity that fruitlessly espouses my budding ambitions. Subtlety eclipsing what remains above which only casts shadows, causing crops to wilt. In the fostering field where ideas flourished, a drought now finds me lacking courage. In desperation, I’m losing sight of what is wrong, and what is right. The duality is predictable, Cain attacks Abel, with only my psyche to smite me. I let darkness take hold, now I must reap what I’ve sowed. As I cast away time is impossible to recover, as is my will to reemerge.