Rent asunder without a bother Mowed with a slash, downed as it sprouts Bowing in surrender, silent in the rout Severed from its roots, sapped of its life Ripped without reason, spilled from the phial Like a libation, offered unto the ground For the expiation of an offense not found Yielding its place upon the ground; placating Indignation based on baseless grounds
A blade of grass, glazing in the sun
Shining evermore brightly in spite of the burn Pining not – unfaltering despite the foil Draped in verdant glory – a flourish divine Decked with a freshness for which men repine With eloquence ineffable uttering these lines: “I find my strength in surrender, yielding as I die at the hands of man; we both fated for the ground. Knowing victory shall return unto me in a while, I succumb to the soil, that unsoiled arbiter who shall redeem me unto life – taking my slayer as spoil, making him the board upon which I root my foot, as I rise – triumphant – unto an endless life!”