The Devil is a gardener
He'll plow your field and
Lay it thick with sweet loam.
He'll fertilize your thoughts
With dreams of a flower jungle.
When you are close to ripeness
Your blossom just beginning to unfurl
He will grab you by your weak stalk
And twist your roots clear out of the ground.
He always knows when you are most desperate.
He always knows when you are feeling strong.
When you are on the precipice
Of self awareness
Doubt looming unrecognizable yet familliar
With great certainty, prepared to jump
He will appear.
The Devil wears a suit- He is a salesman
He does not look like
He would ever kneel in the dirt
Soil his hands
But your blood is there plain as day.
He dusts himself off and
Begins anew.
A new plot
A new field waiting.
He knows your body is there
In the ground he sowed.
He will return to reap
And feed
With his dazzling wings.
You wait underground
Fallow
Grateful for a glimpse
Of the artificial light he brings.
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