Life as a Seed

There’s nothing but silence gripping my sides; all I recall is a surge of light attacking the air by me as a waterfall of dirt poured into the crevice above. But it’s not the silence that scares me; the fear is coming from what may be overhead. Wherever I may be it seems to be a secluded utopia for my thoughts. Conscious coming and passing as my unconscious plays trick on me. Time takes two step forwards and one step back but it may be for a good reason as I am not yet ready for what lies ahead.

A crisp feeling of fluids bathing my torso in a bitter taste of the corrupt air, but life marches on, day grows older; the shade of dark grey turns to a pitch black with no sign of other forms treading by my side. What I am … I don’t seem to know but it seems as if I cannot control what I will be getting myself into.  As the hours pass my reality dims and I cannot control my wit; my existence feels more like an illusion.

            The deep once tunnel of charcoal turns to a grey blur. Time does not touch me in this tranquil prison. Or I assume it does not; day and night throughout the wall is nothing more than a shaded hue. Claustrophobia has not ever been a consideration until this instant.

 I feel my shape press against the grains of the wall but what was once compact is now pliant. Is this my exit from solitude or is this nothing more than a murky pathway into nowhere… seems like I have no choice; as the once barricade from the outside world is now collapsing into the smut it was separating me from.

                        Placed against the one object I came to know as my immortal shell has just been penetrated by myself.

Cold, damp, dark… no longer am I imprisoned by what I do not know, but the idea of what is on the outside, my imagination, no longer scares me.

I do not sleep, I do not breathe but I live. What I am from this step on is not who I will be. Panic controlled my mind as I was being submerged into the unknown, time has just graced me, as I continue to ascend through infancy as if I follow, a path chiseled for myself, although I deny the possibility of any soul beyond myself to be present, some would consider autarchy a triumph reward…but to me all it is, is an eternal trial.

A diurnal course of repent as well as rejoice all within the same walls, a record playing through my mind, what am I…?

A branch appears to be shattering through the dirt, whether it is a misconception or reality I would not know. As time continues so do I but I’m just a fish following the stream, there is no purpose of my existence… or that that I know of.

What is this? I say I live, but is this a way of life…? Where simply my thoughts are what separate me from the crud encasing my existence.

I feel as though I’m retreating from the inevitable future. Days I cannot take back is nothing more than a cloud of fog roaming through the sky, I am a flask; consumed by individuality …the simple sense of being is not enough for me. To deny following the path that was encrypted is nothing more than a delusion.

I do not feel pain, but I feel pressure. As I emerge more and more out of the wall of codes, the frisk of excrement presses against my skin as I become one with what I once objected.

I store juices from what seems to be above me as my mind bounces like a ball from one thing to another, this may be the moment I discover who I am, or is the truth going to affect my ego. “We are prisoners of our own identity”, does this mean what I think I am not my identity or what I believe is who I truly am…? This thought of mine is beyond what I can comprehend… but why must I comprehend what is no use to me, it is simply complex.

What is so complex about and entity that is simple? Everything is simply complex but I need to be beyond what is the naked eye, as the quote goes… “Do not judge a book by its cover”, what is; is not what is going to be. Forwards or backwards upwards, and downwards what is seen is a mosaic of movement and time bending at the will of my thought. I feel as though I am a prisoner, but not just a prisoner of this blur I can see, the sheer fact of not knowing is eating away at me. As I feel a surge of energy push within me upwards.

Is this my identity? Or another eternal war within my mind.

I shatter through what was and now I am. “I am” what? I am brittle…the fog that once was, is now below me. Does this make me above what I once was as I have now discovered… time is on the side of who can wait, although I do not know what I’m waiting for?

 

Wind pressing against the balance within my fabric, now I freeze… What I considered a prison was more than. What I considered a prison was a sanctuary that protected me. As I know that I cannot control what it is I do and what it is I do is nothing more than a prediction. Time is embedded into my structure; as I am a clock set to ring at the will of instinct.

But I do have a use as I have now realized. Although I do not know what this purpose is I can leave it to no one but the timer that is nesting within me. My concept on reality has now begun to mold against the hardened loam.

At last… my thoughts have proceeded to quiet.

Tears…?

Liquid falls from the atmosphere of pollution. Is this what I absorbed whilst I existed within the walls? This is originating from above. Although below the loam it felt pure. Was that the purpose of the excrement surrounding myself or was there more.

My curiosity gets the best of my subconscious thoughts.

I am sprouting? What exactly am I. This question eludes me night after night but does this mean I came from another one of my own? Has the natural process of elimination already gotten to them or are they as I am? The span of a minute is the span of a second, as either has no meaning to me.

            I seem to be alone as I was before; but this is a different feeling of abandonment. I feel at peace.

            I hear whistling throughout the space of empty flat. I feel the same energy I did before, the same pressure I felt when I flew through the dirt as if a rocket pushing against gravity. But there is more, I seem to be breaking into something more than a stem. I am not what I am surrounded by, I have colour; I am beyond what I seemed to assume I was and now; beyond what encloses my vision.

            I am colour; in a way I only represent myself in another I represent life, growth, and strength. But I still have no purpose; as I am nothing more than a Passion Flower…

            But my eyes have now gained liberty as they have no restraints to the beauty of what I had not seen before. What I see? I see what I can and cannot…what was…what is not… is what I see. I see what a plant would see, among thousands of other plants; no longer am I distinguished.

 

Reasons unanswered…

I see now… my purpose… but it seems as it’s too late for my actions to have consequences, I am a puppet to what I don’t know was. What existed before me may have been the answers to my questions in solitude… but how do I praise my words to the giants above me. I cannot… what I thought was once my savior is now a contrast shadow of what is.

I feel a warm touch from the Goliath…taken from the head of my pedicel, my encasing form is split from the ground, I am limp… I see now my purpose. My stem is crushed from the impact as I can only see behind …what I see is another seed, what I was, is what that is, and the same fate has begun. The liquid pollutants within me leaks from my roots as I am thrown to the side.

The sky is black .Just as it was when I first had risen from the filth below me.

I can do nothing as the leviathan feasts on my roots… was this my purpose?

 

What was light is now a dismembered bridge, a memory of what I was and now am not.

Author's Note

Sorry for any mistakes I've made.