Its branches cannot bear the trauma sprouting out as leaves.
Too heavy, outshoots shatter, leaving splinters on the ground
that pierce the feet of victims walking too close to the trunk.
Its fruit is beautiful, but bitter to the taste,
replacing love of neighbor
with the poison of pure hate.
The winds of change bear seedlings, leaving chaos in its wake.
The seedlings root. The cycle starts.
The land is laid to waste.
published in Contemplate
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