God made you a gardener

God made you a gardener.
You dug a hole and planted two seeds,
Gave one poison, and as a thankless deed,
You gave the other water.
One grew tall, its petals perky
Its stem strong, its roots well nourished,
While the other weakened, I flourished.
The other grew, weak and skinny,
With little hope, you the gardener,
Chose to uproot, the half dead flower, 
Who I considered my brother.
He did resist, for he was a fighter,
And I, with my leaves clenched tight
To his weakened limbs, stood by his side,
For I understood that a rose would not subside,
Just as long as its thorns put up a fight.
And once the heart which pumped poisonous gas
Was punctured by my filthy horns
Covered in the soot of its own enflamed thorns
His scab was healed from within its crevasse
His asphyxiated petals that just learned to breathe
Stretched its leaves wide and exclaimed “At last!”
But with my thorns inflicted with toxins and he left aghast
He chose to patch me up with his newly healed leaf
While his scab would peel off and become infected
Though he did not care; he had realized,
That a rose would not grow if love wasn’t fertilized
Along with the poison the gardener injected.
As our bodies turned grey and stench manifested
Not a single bug that passed by attempted to pollenate
Our unattractive buds from which smoke would extricate
But the gardener took heed of how well we had rested
And dug a hole in which we were to lay
Under a blanket of dirt from night until day.