Teacher
Cop
Or leader

They all
Conspire
The same

To exploit
Our basic
Weakness

And embrace
What fear
We loathe

By choice
Of becoming
Weeds

From hate
Sown deep
In gardens

Clandestine
As new
Flowers

For rejecting
Art
Which speaks

Through love
That grows
On vines

With faith
Like plants
Unruly

Free
Before they’re
Severed

When cutting
Hearts
At roots –

These herbs
Now firmly
Trenched

Among soils
Harsh
And arid

Missing
Much needed
Moisture

Of life’s
Most basic
Gifts,

Where nature
Knows
Its place

And clouds
Can barely
Threaten

What heaven
Holds
As answers

Or keep
These fields
From rain.

Such roles
Are hardly
Dirt

But rather
Grass
Misguided

Cause any
Seed
Of power

Bears fruit
With no
Control.

– J. Pigno