In Every Garden

In every garden

In every row and aisle

There always seems to be too many weeds

Throughout the fields

All rampant, random, and wild

There always seems to be too many weeds

I never thought much of the garden

Until the things I loved were choked

I never thought much of the field

Until the nightshade cut my legs

I'd hesitate and second guess my way

In my garden

I know what I like and I like what I grow

And I'll pull out all the cull and leave the things I desire

And in the field where everything grows

And the mower never mows

I'll stomp on what I want to

And cherish the things I desire

I built a wall around my garden

When people started telling me what to grow

It's cold and callous and casts a heavy shadow

Over the fields I choose to call my own

I hate the wall and its selfish display

My garden becoming sterile in it's pretentiousness

My direction lost in shallow righteousness

Suffocating the bloom...and every blossom