Blooming Madness

Something arises from the wet,
damp soil of my existence.
I did not plant it there.
I grows and I fool myself into believing
I can cultivate it and shape it
into something all my own

.....uniquely pruned.

I toil and sweat in the effort.
And then there is the endless weeding
that goes on around it.
As if it could ever be choked out.

After a while I show off my creation,
enter it for awards....the finest specimen.
And it wins....having no relation to that which rose
in the wet, damp soil of my existence.

I did not plant it there.