Weeds grow in cracks.
Some, mere
distractions, aesthetically depraved and alone,
Others…well others are
blights, barren of redemption
Upon reputation and
perception…we flee from what we never took the time to understand
We are the easy
victims,
We are the
uncomfortable prey,
Hunter’s battle over
our pelts,
Quantity is often
considered more desirable
Than pedigrees and wealth…
They, the crowd of
horizons, scream unmercifully,
Thumbs up provides
little reaction…
The Hero pauses,
wrinkles his grin in turn,
Thumbs down…the sky erupts…bloodthirsty and
alone
Weeds devour our
sidewalks,
Inhabit our terrain,
leaving
Nothing left worth saving,
To mire
in near and distant pains...Justice?
