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Jul 2015
There is no seed that knows its
purpose; there is no warning of
a drought or a deluge; nature
must accept side-effects as part
of the will to live; the hands that
would cultivate the soil around
it are the intention ofΒ Β its fate;
earth worms wait for unborn
roots to decay making their blind
existence worth the space within
which a fisher who lives on bread
alone strikes his ***** near; as
sprouts appear the surface only
welcomes them with callous
indifference because what already
lives has been scarred by nails
that have rusted by a story of
either true suffering or one of
failure to accept that there is no
man who does not all at once
meet the moment of judgment
by those who found the hammer
first; but now to survive in a forest
eager to avenge fires set by elements
that perished long ago it is a matter
of rejecting all pretense of the name
on the instructions for growth; it is
necessary to love every creature
no matter their natural state or else
perish under the guise of all that is
good; when in the course that a
monster must be defeated by an
equal or greater monster it is
then no longer a world that
remembers its intention; instead
it becomes a world that has
decided the garden is no longer
for comfort but instead for the
wood of spears, the pollen for
poison and the soil for burial;
for no man who began buried
next to death can live when
death becomes the reward for
being free
Mark Lecuona
Written by
Mark Lecuona
802
 
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