Control

My would-be green thumb is black
I am a control freak
But I hate controllers
I have seen the carnage
I hate that I am one
But as much as I want not to be
My reflex always seems to go there
I confuse mercy and helping with hurtful control
I want to be a gentle, nurturing gardener
Weeding and fertilizing and watering
But I look back and see manual, manminded, manipulation
My hands smothering the bud to keep it from blooming
My fingers pulling at the petals
Forcing them to open prematurely
My dirty, grubby hands mashing the blossoms together
In foolish attempts to arrange the bouquet to my liking
I want to let the flowers be
I want to let the garden grow to full glory as it will
I want to be the gentle husbandman
There only to eradicate weeds
And make the environment a showplace
But I am blind and stupid
I need help to know when I control
To need this help or ask for it
Is probably to forfeit any benefit of effort
God help this blind man to find his way through the garden
Without scuffing through the beds
And laying waste the blooms