Root Rot

Two pants, same pot.

Roots entangled, gnarly knot.

I grow towards the sun, leaves

outstretched, soaking in possibility. 

Maybe God planted us together,

the reason locked away,

held dear by monks in monasteries. 

Prayers for light gone unanswered.

The answer may lie

with the televangelists, guarded

in the vaults beneath their megachurches.

I don’t know if we were chosen

to complement each other, different species

of insanity kissing for eye-numbing blooms.

For now, we compete

& there is never enough light

to photosynthesize our flourishing needs.

Who thrives? Who withers?

Who kisses the sun first?

Two plants, same pot.

Roots entangled, gnarly knot.