seed
seed
seed

harvest blossom

the seed is blind,
the seed has no eyes.
the seed can only sense that within which he is currently immersed. 
the seed envisions a future alike,
a future akin to the strife. 
the seed firmly grasps the roots of his past,
he thinks the present is cloaked in the ills of back then.
the seed's notion of time is elongated eons of anguish, 
pain back and present and forward again.
the seed feels stagnation, 
stuck in a forever of wrong.
the seed has no growing pains, 
no form of notice.
the past is the present and the present the future,
at least to the seed that can't feel it's strength brewing.
the seed doesn't realize that the pain was a catalyst,
is a catalyst out of the black.
the seed fails to acknowledge the sprout around the bend ahead, the one that commenced some time ago. 
the seed doesn't know that he is the perfect potentiality,
that will come --
is coming into fruition.

seed
seed
seed

harvest bloom