The Weeds

Undesirable  undergarments of nature's precious haven

What brutal violence could be conjured to strip you from your core

As if a grin was formed on earth's plate, you rise

I can't but adore

Such beauty to be shed and shredded

Is that what the gods intended

Or is there something

More?

Is there something so evil

To kill such vibrant colors and life

What could possibly be put in their place

What could possibly bring such disgust with such grace, such face

Why would their slender, gracious bodies ever surrender
 To the striking knives of our own kind

As if we think ourselves to be fools

As if we truly believe, that our knives

Sharpened by the hearts of stone

Which we have been cursed to bear

Deep in our heavy chests

Will ever touch something so alive and holy

Something blessed to flourish until heaven has fallen on earth

Even when they aren't welcome, you should know, that weeds grow

The very stretched arms of mother nature, her soul

Such beauty there is in giving life to dead roads, empty homes

Don't you agree?

You see

Even weeds have roots

Very much like mighty trees and all their fruits

Very much like humans are the roots

To all evil

And these roots are nursed and nourished

By the same earth we all came from
And they will die

On the same earth that will harvest us all