The Seed

i was given a seed which the giver said that if i shall plant it
it will grow me all that i shall ever need
but great care should be taken, specific wants must be granted
for the health of this miracle flora to bare fruit
the soil must remain loose, breathing in a constant monotone
of nothing less than desperate fear of its own mortal timeline
you must never even whisper "immortal" at any point in which it might hear
for surely, if it believed it could live forever, then "live" it wouldn't try
for what point is there to be in making acts called progress
within a landscape of no horizons
by which to notice where you've been
where you are and where you could be
knowing eternity brings apathy,
and the wish for an afterlife is synonymous with a wish to die
a tear must never drop upon its bed,
it would only serve to salt its earth, lest a rapid wither spring forth
and force the fruit to drop before fully ripe
which would only offer premature sweetness to only last for seonds
whilst the bitter lasts for days, months, years
depending on the masochistic fondness one grants the specific memory
constant numbing purity of all fluids shed is the key
to moisten the roots of this forever tree that dreams of being to never and back again
reverse and unbirth to the safety of its seed
and dream again of an act it once thought was growing
but found, in reality, was being grown