If Only. (Poisoned.)

Being told what to do

Who to be

Day by day

With every passing argument

Can a wild fig tree withstand storms that come so often?

While roundworms gnaw at its roots,

Weevils and mites tunnel into its trunk,

Beetles chew on its leaves,

Bats nibble into its fruits,

And the terrain receives little to no rain?

Your temper is like a storm

Your constant criticism; the worms

Your insistence; the beetles

Your double standard; the bats

And my soul, the ground waiting for water from Above.

Why is it a surprise that after two years

My roots are broken

My trunk is battered

My leaves are yellow

And my fruits are sour

As though the drought was not enough

I wish I were as strong

As the saints of old

But I have been broken;

I am broken

And still you require of me

to be of cheerful conversation

to the source of you,

which is a source of many annoyance

like the caterpillars on my leaves

leaving holes everywhere

unknowingly, but surely

damaging me

Rest is scarce for my heart

It flies away earlier than the morning birds come for worms

And closes its hands quicker than the Morning Glory's time

Poison runs through my veins

But you don't even perceive

And the worst of obliviousness

Is that your hand administers it

Yet an antidote is with you

If only you could perceive;

My hope is from Above.