From a Premature Sapling to the Trees that Grew

It's apparent:
Contented complacency cannot be achieved.
I can't keep kidding my heart,
Always darkening.

Startled, knees buckled,
Every time I catch a planet thrown at me.
"I will try to hold you above and keep you steady,
But when I pass you along, will their hands see you as heavy?"

Panicked, uncertain:
The seeds I plant surface,
Dirt to mud,
Their bed eroded.

And to the trees that grew,
Where was your fruit?
Were you not meant for the world to feed?
Existence for the eyes, rooted in conceit.

Is being jaded justified as we grow hungry?

What an anomaly, if the trees are only for beauty.

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