in childhood memories my father tells me
to listen and not speak, see but not touch
smell the grass, the new mowed lawns
he tells me to look out across
the concrete and pavement
and see the lone tree
every few feet
to look closely at
the sparse patches of green
and appreciate them
but to look even closer
and see the weeds
growing every where
in the grassy plots of the trees
coming up through the sidewalks
growing between the cobble stones
he told me that life always find a way
that it will always exists
but might not be good overall
I saw and as I grew older I took that knowledge
and watch the weeds of humanity prosper
and the beauty of mankind be strangled
war, death, pestilence and greed
ego, lust and pain
fertilize a world of weeds
blanching beauty, joy and love
each of us has a soul fertile with thoughts
each of us has a potential garden of miracles and beauty
each of us must be the husbandman of our own garden
cautious what we allow in our consciousness
what thoughts we entertain
we must be cruel to the false dreams and lies
we must clean out the weeds
from our heart mind and soul
be prepared to be cruel to allow beauty to prosper
