The Weed

No, this poem is not about drugs of any sort.

Watch the weed as it grows,

An outcast amoung it's family of roses.

Listen to it's silent wonder,

And caress it's blades that are yet gentle.

Watch it sprout from the soil,

and reach endlessly for the sky.

Feel the innocence, feel the strength,

Feel the determination pulsing through it's veins,

To someday be something greater.

-

Watch the weed as it grows,

An outcast amoung it's family of roses.

Listen to it's silent hatred,

And let it slice the nerves in your fingertips.

Watch the ground die beneath it,

As it now reaches for the very ones it once loved.

Feel the need to hear those pretty roses scream.

Crush their petals and show them what it's like so close to the ground.

Choke them out.

Kill them.

Rip them apart.

Kill them all.

-

Watch the weed as it grows,

Now an outcast even to itself.

For there is something new,

Something that was not there before...

Upon the now soulless weed's stem,

A single rosebud awaits.