weeds

no matter how hard
                    we pull,
                    we spray,
                    we curse,
                    we pay
    the weeds
    refuse to go
                        away:

        a death too soon,
            a debilitating disease,
        rejection from loved ones,
            anger enough to destroy,
        heartache that knocks us to our
                                knees
and
            life goes out of
                        life;

yet,

without the darnel
                bearding us,

hope might not bear
        enough fruit for
        everyone who yearns
                    for it;

grace might blossom
            only once every
                    100 years;

the grapes of justice
        might produce
        just a few ounces;

love might become
        an endangered plant.

© 2014 Thom M. Shuman