I am the Seed

Independence is lost.

It is getting more and more difficult now
to distinguish what is real
from what is not.
It is old memories,
it is old fantasies,
it is a story
with out a plot.

He has made a home here,
In this fickle fatigue,
that is my epicenter.
But I had a voice,
the crucial choice,
the sign that said
DO NOT ENTER.

But I hid them all.

Now bid me days
Expunged of his lavish beauty.
Show me life devoid of his.
He is the sun,
The rain,
The soil that holds me.
The sprite that lets flowers exist.