30 minutes to feed

I am an acorn, buried beneath the oldest of the mountains of the East, crushed by the mighty ground, stomping every nook of my helpless flesh. and another weight above it that beautifully flourished, is one more pain that i have to endure. one after the other, another after an endless count. to conjure some foxy notions of deceit, overbearing, employing what I must but am not, seeping life from the others who have battled their demons. no! i dare not engrave my freedom by means of devilry. perseverance that never ends. ordeals you thought will never end. and the clock whose hands dictate the value of what you've gained and lost and preserved, is and will and perhaps the only thing in this world that remains objective. neither laughing or mocking. and there you are, brimming with hope and filling your heart with gladness, but the truth is never hid and when you're pained, you know that some feelings fill it too. a drowning uncertainty. every wave of it consumes you, and when you raise one hand in an attempt to elevate your vulnerability,only the cackles of soaring seagulls remain immutable among wide-ranging frequencies. as if this 'conspiration' is the antonym of evasion, binding your will, resisting utmost defense, absorbing your trinity into the widest plain.