I know the legend, I know of hope. But sometimes when it comes down to it, can’t we just gather our tools and lock up the box?

It opens when the coffin closes,

It’s ugly, and plentiful – the way weeds devour your carefully nourished garden. It ruins everything, and though you know you can always replant the seeds it’s never really the same. I’m not a green thumb, I’m not the least bit providing in this large garden. I find I ruin a lot of the flowers, just by accidentally trampling all over them. Sometimes they devoured each other, in reach for precious essentials. Other times it rained, and some days it never let up. I can’t do much to help them. I’m a beginner gardener who has all the tools and no experience.

The flowers are easy to hate, sometimes I do; they’re hard to maintain and easy to ruin. A complex pattern of connection that continues all the way down to the root. They are deceiving until the day you see the extent of their rot. They may not thrive together, but in the rare moments they do, it’s a wonderful sight. Though when it’s decided that one gets infected, the rest are vulnerable too. They thrash in that silent lip-locked way, battling constantly in senses I cannot understand nor reach. I am merely a seed. Sometimes I turn black and moldy within that tainted garden. But I am a seed nonetheless and I do what I was planted to do. Little by little I unravel to the sunshine, which may just as soon be swept away, but I reach anyway. Hope. 

I am the young gardener, but I’ve yet to know it. I see the horizon and beyond, but right before me dances the white oleanders. Beautiful and poisonous, they grasp me so I die crying in tender fear. I am the young gardener and I see your effect. You fertilize them and keep them blooming, but you’re not permanent, you’ll wash away, but as this inexperienced juvenile, I’ve still yet more to learn. I’m the young gardener and my garden decays before me so I begin to hate them, though I try not to, because they say love is the only way, but angry and bitter I give up and walk away. I’m the young gardener and I see the bees swarming my garden, are you perhaps my savior to help me salvage this situation? No, you’ll all fly away. The stupid gardener looks into the soil and sees – Hope.

It had been bad soil the seed grew up in. It had also once been good. But a flower wilted and withered and died alone, so the roots mangled and nutrition couldn’t get through. Then all the flowers went haphazard and bent every which way. The flowers all struggle to survive, they disregard their intertwined roots and ran all bout in their search of a route for themselves. They spread everywhere in this small garden and keep safe their own pocket of water. It’s an evil that contaminated everyone and the gardener wonders what have I just caused. I might just pinch off a leaf or two while I tend you, because I hate you so, but I still tend to because this is my garden.

We all knew it was bound to happen – It’s a world of ugly. But maybe if I look twice, I’ll see hope.