All nature grows and dies
Naked, innocent
amongst the artifice of Man
Observe each branch, blade, petal, root
and stem
how unselfconscious and free it grows
such simple forms
with such a simple plan
to live and grow, to survive,
to stretch out for the sun
to simply be
but complex Man
with his neurotic plans
builds and burns around her
somehow deformed and lost
ignorant of the cost
of separation from his Mother
he doesn't see
the simplicity
but only looks to see
if he can use
or abuse her
to paint pretty colours
over her purity
to burn the wooden home of life
to harvest a crop he will consume
to distort and twist fertility
into a tool
to drain and choke
the river of her veins
but she, simply
says nothing
she dies without a sound
but her death,
unknown to him,
finds an echo
in his soul
and he too takes,
unaware
a step
toward his grave
where, after all he's done
she will accept him
as all mothers do their sons
as they lie
at last
side by side
