The seed was sown; its fruit was taken,
Morphed into necromantic desires
The harvest was done; leeched out,
To form the grains of sorrow and despise-
The flower dried, leaving behind the decaying essence of time-
Rains of pain and torment had nourished the plant well;
The fruit had formed after years of patience and sacrifice,
But its taste lasted only for a second...
It could not satiate; the years of pent up hunger
It only fueled it more,
Hunger giving way to hunger;
Like some vicious cycle.
People cutting each other's throat for a nascent fruit.
It is funny rather how we seem to forget
That it is not the fruit that matters, what matters is how we get it...