Cure My Disease

The seed of darkness lies buried
in a hidden place in my heart.

Merely lying in recession
awaiting a spark, a melancholy night.

Fertilized by the shadows of doom,
tiny tendrils snake out and
slowly begin to pierce the dainty
shell of hope which surrounded
the fragile heart, and wounded soul.

Like a cancerous growth extending
and gripping tighter, abhoring light,
it rescinds its mantra to stay down.

The cure for the disease is not
found in broken relationships
struggling to be maintained.

The cure for the plague is not
smiling, grabbing life by the horns
and surviving; keeping your chin up.

No, the darkness is only held
in check by a handful of colorful capsules,
which, like knights against a dragon foe,
fight the choking vines of darkness
forcing it back into it's secret lair--

Where it waits, and procreates,
awaiting a spark, a melancholy night.

In a hidden place within my heart,
the seed of darkness still lies buried.