so accustomed to looking at things from our sense of 'cultivation',

sometimes it might be well to consider the 'uncultivated'

that also is—exists.


pulling the weeds because the city says they are unsightly,

i must admire their tenacity, that, without encouragement,

they have found a way to thrive.


'the world will love and nurture its own',

but this ownership denies our ownership of ourselves,

the I in me, and the you in you.


does the world encourage newly formed sprouts in man,

spontaneously springing sprouts, 'without cause' and 'to no use'?

who has ever 'grown' a weed?


no, the world is a world of offense and opposition to the weed,

to which even chemical warfare is deemed warranted.

a mystery—weeds flourish still!


what is the secret of the stoic, iron-willed, weed?

the world does not consciously hold it, or know,

for the weed is foreign to its engineered aim.


'...the world is crucified unto me, and i to the world'

so the cross is an offense that cuts both ways,

as a double-edged sword.


we are the weeds; the world does not know us.

we are the world; weeds do not belong.

some secret lies in this situation.


'thorns and thistles shall it bring forth',

and for you: weariness, sweat, and pain.

plan b now in effect.


Ah, yes, the realm of 'the curse'.

we still have lessons to learn from this,

before we pass on.