The Gardener
I tender the ground so hard and dry
To ensure I grow the best possible
Seething hatred before I wither and die
*
The seeds I sow are created from pain
The kind that makes you soul bleed
And the blows of a fist over and over again
*
The nourishment they thrive upon
Are the salted tears of sorrow and despair
Hastily collected before they are gone
*
My fertiliser of choice not for the faint of heart
And the shit that I spread from the decaying dead
Give my unholy seeds, the best possible start.
*
So I tender the ground with tools made of bone
As I while away the centuries and beyond
With no-one else to care for, but myself alone
*
I care for my seeds like a father doth his spawn
To help them along and nurture and grow
With the ultimate glory for them to be born
*
So with tears and faeces I tend to my young
Talking all the time to them of the lives ahead
Their hurt and betrayal not yet even begun
*
So I watch as my hatred grows to wondrous heights
Seeing the potential they now have to offer
And my thoughts drift off to imagine the delights
*
I bid my children goodbye, with a blood red tear
As they go into the world to spread unrest
And a large proportion of unbridled Fear!
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