Our strive for light makes us compete. Our strive for height makes us weak. Our strive for ground makes us reach. Our resilience makes us need. Our strife in life and fights for peace, we strive for night and its release.
Let nature run wild, or trim and enclose it? Nurture or meddle with what nature imposes?
In the greenhouse—red flowers grow. Weeds and flowers—bathe in the glow. If we fight for what’s right, do we fall for our wrongs? If we live and let live do we nurture the strong?
In the greenhouse—red flowers grow. Weeds and flowers—bathe in the glow. If we fight for what’s right, do we fall for our wrongs? If we live and let live, do we nurture the strong? The fakers, loud shakers, impotent chasers of spangle and baseness, the rattle of drums and the takers, rally the herd, blinkered unhindered. The acter’s tangible lines, or the thinker’s binding vines? To grip or embrace if we fight for what’s right? Have we raised too high, blocked the light and sealed our fate?