I understand.... <br />the wind is blowing <br />from a different mountain now. <br />Thick smoke will rise <br />from placid chimneys, <br />billowing without apparent aim, <br />weeds nod <br />and sway as if in trance <br />they are not candles <br />in the winds of time, <br />but flowers in a smart disguise, <br />so few can know <br />the secret of <br />the paucity of love, <br />brushed with the strokes <br />of cyclone gray <br />ignored by those <br />whose minds would separate <br />the cream just from the cream, <br />discard the whey <br />with all its riches <br />and the specks of growth, <br />they would not dream <br />to search, <br />or contemplate the thought <br />that man cannot conceive <br />of temples without those <br />who must commit their sins, <br />while wallowing with glee <br />inside a giant vat <br />filled with genetic superiority <br />yet only in a shallow way, <br />while confident <br />of an abundance in <br />the sediment of fertile grounds. <br />Meanwhile... <br />the wind resumes <br />unsure of who might be <br />the flower <br />or the weed. <br /> <br />And in the fog, <br />its silhouette unseen, <br />turbines without a soul <br />now fill the morning air, <br />night thunder to the frigate birds, <br />from deep within the bowels <br />of the ship of fools, <br />known to a few to be <br />the steamboat of indifference.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich 2<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anger-is-the-weed-hate-is-the-tree/
