Alone* in the dark, I sat reclined,
My mind bickering, between thoughts.
Questions I have asked Time and again.
Each time asked met with a response
Different from the last. Oh, How this is very
Normal.

Festering away, burrowing deep,
Exposing ideas long since forgotten.
Scintillas of pain here and there,
Shame and shock, pride and joy,
The entire spectrum of emotions.

Dredge up my mind, 
Till this fertile soil,
Until this mind, indeed my soul too,
Is firmly planted,
Bearing fruit.

But what if I should bear a multitude
Of fruits!? What then? Was this meant 
To be? Or is it a defect and I need to start -
again?