Orphan Seed
An orphan seed.
He walked through virtue's field. Looking for fertile ground.
Contentious yet retentive to the feeling of decay that swelled in his gentleman's pouch.
There was no harvest, his deserted heart pleading for life.
His psyche turning, furiously in circles, whistling like the wind.
An orphan seed.
Not belonging to anyone, not seeing what was under which he stepped.
Full to bursting, bubbling in an unforgiving cycle of distress, justified by his failure to connect.
An orphan seed.
His exploits were shady in every way imaginable.
Dimly lit was his perception, no juncture to absorb his irreconcilable undertakings.
Yet he proceeded, without hesitation,to enjoy the desecration that his soul endured.
An orphan seed.
