The veins of the sprout
stretching out
exploring its own universe
like a small planet
indulging in its own leafy world
as it unveils its inner soul
hidden behind a hundred emerald jackets
it has no vision
just a sense of its own being
and connectivity, to its family
connected to their stalk of life
it feels it has no purpose
yet senses, in some way
it is here for a purpose
then one day
it is cut, from its source of life
then thrown
into a pan of boiling water
screaming at its own end
yet vaguely aware
that it is about to be consumed
and that some of the consumers
don't even like it
and wonders then
at the futility of its existence