Poetry

Do you think about the grass trampled, as you make your way through the world How every action has led to this moment. And so therefore too does the present dictate, the future forevermore. Everything must choose to live on, or to die, to spare or slaughter another potential meal, for the strong trample and tower above the weak, to do what's simply best there is nothing to it, For all aspire to claim the highest place, For that is the way of the world. To those outgrown and overtaken, stuck in the shade under another's reach, those that aired on caution to avoid risk, and clung to their unsavory fate, you adapt, depart, or die, it all depends on the conditions and subsequent remaining decisions, What of direct conflict, competition, combat from those who would attack, grow some thorns, or a thick bark, a secretion to put off invasions, or some unique innovation such as a touch me not's exploring seeds, could try to Grow flowers and fruit to Ally with others, or depend on yourself and ability to stay solely standing, against the whims of the world, one day the earth again will impede your space,Yes with free fire, waves of water, frost fall expansive and constrictive, it will shake you and everything around topsy-turvy, or remove you with a whirling gale, some days others will try to take what's yours, If not a challenger that threaten to take you space, For that is the way of the world, To step or wait to be stepped upon, Perhaps you could spend your life time getting a house and maintaining a grass garden, To each their own I suppose, But when havoc wreaks it's head will such a diligent dilly-dallying person rethink the time allocated to never be gained again, after such a forced finish, will they restart, or never start again, For that is the way of the world, For every flower bloom is set to wither, For every tree will one day fall, For every life on Earth is set to end, Which is why the seeds and better made place we leave behind is imperative