The Genesis of Ruined Seeds

Within each scorched heart there lingers still
what happened in folly's thrall—
some cursed memories, some forgotten longings, some stains of shame—
even after burning them all in fire's licking tongues,
so much remains as ash.

Some is lost, some mingles with the wind,
creating a poisoned atmosphere.
Some stays behind, bit by bit
becoming jackal and dog's proxy day by day, tearing and gnawing.

The rest, like ruined seed, plants itself in the heart
and in chronic sickness upon sickness,
through roots and branches of agonizing consequence,
poisons this body, this mind—everything.