Soil; Pot

"Whatever grows shall surely die, and never does it take much time."

                   There’s a flowerpot; a little chipped around the edges and not the most expensive. The soil dry and barren, remains of past plants scattered lifeless throughout. A plant sprouts, the greenest green and springs to life. It blossoms and flowers and starts reaching it’s leaves farther and further into the sun’s warmth. It dies. It crumbles and fractures as it falls, lifeless at once.
                   The soil is once more nothing but a weathered graveyard, surely poisonous. Many plants were once amazing and healthy, but not even the most resilient and unique lives can make a home in this soil; In this flowerpot. Over time- years maybe, who knows- over time, there are many a plants to come and go, but they just can’t. They just cannot sustain life.
                   Some bloom into amazing and awe-inspiring flowers, some to nothing more than a horrible weed. No matter the beauty, strength or size of a growth, the soil cannot provide even the simplest of necessities. Whatever grows shall surely die, and never does it take much time.
                   More years pass, and remains of plants are amassed, for the soil no longer takes effort to rid them. It is poison, and maybe things will just stop trying to grow. The feeling of having a plant for a moment or two is not worth the constant reminder that you are not good enough to keep it alive.
                   Another tiny sproutling, not the greenest or firmest. The soil probably couldn’t even give this one a good start. Others do the same, and die. But this one stays the same. The soil around it is cleared a little, the death pushed back to see this sprout.
                   Special attention is paid to certain plants, every once in awhile, even though they never prove the soil sufficient for sustaining life. Time passes and it doesn’t die, nor prosper. Maybe the soil isn’t completely barren, it must have found something to
keep it from dying a little longer. These hopes provide comfort; despite their
existence in the past, and their guaranteed let down. There is nothing but poison,
this soil. As remains are amassed, and this one plant living, the soil is cleared a
little better around it.
                   Just as it’s given this extra care, it begins to wilt. It will wilt and die, this has happened before. The plant falls to the ground, and things are the same. You can’t
feel worse then you know you are. Poison. After time, and more plants’ deaths;
some of them given them same care with subsequent death. After time, one of the
lifeless plants is noticed to have a little hint of green. The same one, as a matter of
fact, that all but died, awhile back.
                   Over time it sits up a little, and is flushed of its dead brown shade; it’s found something to keep it going a little longer. The soil pays no care, it can’t do this
anymore. All attention and care is no help, with horrible soil. Poison soil. Over time,
the blossom neither loses life, nor shows greater signs. But it did something
different, one day. It pushed some dead leaves off of it, moved a long dead stem out
of its way.
                   The soil is at a crossroads, and doesn’t know. It pushes things, clears the way for this sprout. Why not? Other plants have been dying every day; maybe just enjoy this one before it does. Over time and time this thing will not wither. It remains but a
little sprout, nothing different than the start of many plants before it. It shows no sign
of death. No sign of weakness. It gets a little greener, a little firmer. The pot begins
to be cleared of its lifeless growths.
                   The soil isn’t poison; it’s got something to give. Something that allows a plant to live. Whether it’s just this plant, or others to come, it is possible. The soil is not completely barren, no good at all. Something in it can keep a plant alive, even if it’s just one. The past remains are cleared, and new deaths removed. This soil has
something, now. This one little sprout has found in the soil, something to keep it
alive. Something to nurture it completely.
                   During this, dozens of plants are grown, many larger than this sprout. They provide for a moment an awesome presence. They have for a moment something to keep
them there. But never is it enough, and they too die. The sprout has seen the soils
nutrients, what it has to offer. It sees the toxins and parasites, and constant death of
plants. It has all it needs to keep content. The soil’s pretty comfy when you see
what’s in it, what you can be nurtured with. If these other plants don’t thrive off
what’s in the soil, then more for the sprout.
                   No need for a fancy pot; or an unchipped, perfectly symmetric round one. Some plants can’t live, because they see the others have died. The sprout knows it won’t
die, it sees all it needs and wants, in the soil alone. The toxins don’t let the weeds
thrive. If a plant has a bad root, the toxins cause it to die. But this sprout doesn’t
have bad roots, and it hasn’t put them down too far. Everything is perfect. A pot, and
soil. A plant. A plant to give the soil its beauty and roots, the soil to give the plant
nutrients and a home. They are all the other needs.
                   The sprout never blossoms into a magnificent plant, nor does it grow beautiful flowers. Other plants do these things, last a moment at most, and are gone. But this
one… it stays. The soil that once was thought to be poison, to be incapable of
becoming a plants home. It shows there is hope, that all these plants can die, even
the ones that grow to magnificent heights. They can die and vanish, because it’s no
reflection on the soil. The soil did not have what these plants craved, whether it be a
gorgeous pot, or uselessly extravagant nutrients.
                   A plant may come along that blooms the brightest blooms, and reaches the highest of heights, and lives. All this is perfect. The soil is not poison, it isn’t incapable of being enough. Time goes by and the sprout is nothing but the same. It grows a little
taller at times, but the soil stays clear. The plants that die vanish, to make room for
another. Maybe one that can live there, too. Things are, for the first time, nice.
                   Now… the pot is quite chipped and uneven, in general. But the edges of the pot are chipped and broken and horrid. So to do it’s best to cover this up, to lure plants in for hopes that by the time they see this, they will have found happiness with the soil.
To do this, the soil has spread itself over the side. It has covered these
imperfections to the best of its ability. While not doing it completely, by any means,
the pot looks a little nicer. Covered in dirt, but a little nicer.
                   By doing this, plants come. Many plants. Beautiful plants that only thrive off of the most beautiful pots and extravagant nutrients. But it’s these plants, that upon discovering the pot’s true appearance, die at once. Plants that need a beautiful pot,
need a beautiful pot. And the most amazing nutrients will not satisfy them without
the pot to decorate the plant’s growth. But the one little sprout, this awesome,
awesome sprout, it has long seen the pot’s true appearance, and stayed. it doesn’t
need a gorgeous pot.
                   One night… one night, after a day in which the soil is particularly drawn of nutrients, they’ve been ruptured, disturbed, dried up. This is the night that the plant wiggles it's roots a little, and steadies them. This brings the soil’s nutrients back up, at once,even if just a little. It returns moisture, a bit. The plant reaches its roots down deeper
and encounters and toxins, nutrients, and parasites with the greatest of ease. Its
leaves begin to fill out, its stem thickens and lengthens, it’s blooms blossom, and it
flows into an amazing, beautiful, full plant.
                   The soil has regained any lost moisture, it’s nutrients at their height, and it’s toxins at their weakest and most insignificant. Things are absolutely perfect. There is an awe-inspiring life, in an old chipped pot, with horrible soil. Thingsare, for the first time, perfect. After a moment or two of this absolute bliss, the roots contract,shrivel, and pull out of the ground. They have vanished, along with the plant.
                   There’s a flowerpot; a little chipped around the edges and not the most expensive. The soil within is not enough to house a plant. But is has something others will never have… the experience of complete bliss, no matter if only a few moments. A bliss in which it’s imperfections were seen, and still loved. The soil and pot will always remember this, while they try to find contentment in being the only thing the other will ever, always have.