Claustrophobia

Thoughts bludgeoned to death by repeated questions of syllabus

So hard it is -- to find life in a death,
and so too to find light in dark;
yet mind's lights are dimmed by revised answers -
where can a rose blossom in a plane of re-harvested maize?

Et tu, Brute - conspiring
all conspiring
Crypticism and meandering inconsistencies -
have you died since we last met?

Yet where does rhetoric - poetic
lie in the vast plan drawn up by these supposed rose-growers?
Yet none! - misconceptions and lies - maize is no beauty, no true flower.

"No rose has fed a man - hence worthless!
Let it wither, let it die!"

Yet life is not one dimensional -But on that solitary plane is where your vision lies.
Too far to see height - bright, fiery red sprites in the sky!

Aesthetic is no tangible consumable -
Mind's meal,
though taste is subjective.