Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

There is a tiny seed inside of me that wants to grow. It wants to dig its roots deep into my earth and twine its prickly green limbs around my empty spaces. It reaches greedily, soaking up the light, and feeds unmercifully, sustaining itself on a steady diet of doubt and fear, envy and ruthlessness.
It grows like kudzu, ambitious without conscience or a modicum of self control, smothering the life from other seedlings showing the audacity, or the optimism, to plant themselves in harm's way.
Diligence my only tool, I am the gardener in charge. Responsible for pruning away the violent tendencies of the choking weed; for nurturing the weaker, less strident saplings. Responsible for determining what dies on the vine and what is encouraged to thrive; what withers away, dust to dust, and what blooms in spontaneous bursts of hopeful glory.
A daunting obligation, to be sure.